Solitude: Before I See
by HunnybadgerV
Summary: After an interesting night replete with multiple near death experiences, Furia finally comes to the realization that just trying to get by might not be cutting it. Despite her own reluctance about her place in this type of life, the young woman decides to approach this like anything else she has ever done, and she throws herself into her work as she learns the ropes and moves up th
1. Blind

**Summary: **After losing her horrible moonlighting job Furia's long walk home takes a dark turn, which leads her to a decision she never thought she would make. Even her younger brother, Memo, who has been flagging purple for a few months is surprised to find out that his very straight-laced older sister was now among the canonized Saints. Troy escorts the interesting new recruit on the final step of her induction into the Third Street Saints and finds out there is a lot more to the young Latina than could imagine.

**a/n: **This piece will side toward a more serious storytelling approach. There may still be zany moments of fun, but I will not guarantee that this piece will follow the exact same type of experience as the games offer.

Lots and lots of love to the fabulous Chyrstis who challenged me to first write this boss. Both she and SaintsEmpressJae have offered me oodles of support and encouragement for which I am incredibly grateful. Kisses on your pink parts, dearhearts-you are awesome. Thanks to Chy for the sharp eye, too. And special thanks to Tanae for the inspiration for the title.

_Disclaimer_: Saint's Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

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**Solitude: Before I See**

**01 Blind**

**-1-**

The music was loud and filled with bass, of course a lot of the girls preferred that type of music while dancing, or so they said. In reality it was chosen in part to placate the clubs clientele. Two of the four women behind the bar did double duty-Alla and Mindy wanted to dance, but Claudius would only let them do so in the slow hours. Ginger, a tall dark-skinned Amazon, and Furia were completely content slinging drinks from behind the relative protection of a thick pine bar. Neither of them wanted to dance, nor did they succumb to the manager's repeated entreaties to take to the stage.

The high pitched squeak caused Furia and Ginger to trade a glance. Almost immediately they counted to three and shot-_paper covers rock_. Ginger grinned victoriously. "Damn! Again? How the hell do you do that?" Furia asked as she slid behind the taller woman.

"Bitch, I told you I'm psychic."

"It's pronounced psychotic, mujer," Furia corrected with a grin at her friend with the cherry red hair. When Furia ducked into the little area behind the bar back, their suspicions were confirmed. Alla, a tiny little girl with a thick Russian accent and nearly translucent skin, was scrubbing at her bare midriff with a grayed towel.

"Keg?" Furia asked.

Alla merely nodded. "Claudi told me it needed to be changed."

Furia nodded and slipped into the walk-in refrigerator. "More like he wanted a reason to be able to keep from having to live up to his word," the five-foot-nine bartender muttered to herself.

The task was not particularly complicated, but if you slipped you could wind up smelling like a brewery. But everyone who worked in the club knew that Alla just could not get the hang of tapping kegs. Every time she tried she wound up drenched and spent the rest of her shift reeking of stale beer.

"Did you bring a change of clothes?" Furia asked as she exited the cooler. She pushed the heavy door closed and leaned against it.

"Dah. Yes," the girl said, quickly correcting herself.

"Go change. I'll cover for you," Furia said tiredly then ducked back out.

"What the hell took so long?"

"She got doused."

Ginger shook her head. "No surprise there."

"¡Ay, Mamí! Who's a guy got to kill to get a drink?"

Furia slid past the red head again. "What can I get you?"

"A shot of whatever you're drinking," the man in the cheap suit drawled.

The trick was old and tried at least a hundred times a night, but Furia did not drink at work. Only a few of the women that worked at the Candy Shop did. The black-haired Latina responded as she usually did-the hollow crack resounded off the wood as she slammed an empty shot glass on the bar upside down.

"C'mon, mamí. Don't make me beg."

"What do you want?" Furia repeated, undeterred and carefully annunciating every word.

"Have a drink with me. I could change your life," the balding man suggested as he grabbed her hand a little roughly.

It was not something new. In a strip club, patrons tended to assume that any female in the place was fair game, even though this club had a fairly strict no touching rule, at least out on the floor.

"Let go." Her voice was calm, her tone cool.

"Do I have to get on my knees?" he grinned then flicked his tongue out at her.

"Danny!" Furia called.

The bouncer at the end of the bar nodded at her and started fighting his way through the crowd. When the patron yanked her hand, Furia mirrored the action and pulled the man toward the bar forcefully.

"Cunt!" he yelled when his ribs bounced off the metal bar.

Furia looked him in the eyes before she locked his wrist, which caused him to yelp loudly. He was calling her every name in the book, and after each comment she would apply just a little more pressure then release it. She really wanted to just press that much harder, that much farther and see how he reacted to the sickening crack, but she did not do it. The job and some of the patrons pissed her off, but she knew that actually breaking that jerk's wrist would garner her an assault charge even though he grabbed her.

"Hands off the girls, Douchebag," Danny growled, bouncing the guy's forehead off the bar. With a wink at Furia, he manhandled the guy into the clutches of two of the club's security staff who came over to usher the guy toward the door.

Danny leaned on the bar as Furia filled a glass with ice and root beer. "You know that's the big man's cousin."

"And?" she replied, setting the drink between them and leaning on the bar.

"Shit, girl! You're going to make me train a new bar back, aren't cha?" he said with a laugh.

"I figure he's already on the verge with me refusing to dance anyway."

"Why don't you? You could make bank." Danny let his eyes travel her lithe frame.

Furia cocked her eyebrow at him. "That," she said with a tilt of her head, "is not the reason my mother put me in dance classes."

"It's good money. And we can all use a little more scratch, especially you."

The bouncer was right. The money was the only reason she was tending bar, but bookkeeping for a dry cleaner didn't cover the bills and her sister was about to start art classes again that was an expense her meager salaries did not really cover. So, there was a necessity lingering in the back of her mind that pushed her to deal with the grabby hands, the leering, and Claudius' regular attempts to get her in a g-string gyrating on the stage.

"I'll stick to mixing drinks, thanks."

Danny shrugged a shoulder at her, letting the topic drop. The sound of the cane tapping on the cheap linoleum caused Furia to roll her eyes. Claudius hurried over to the bar and glared up at her. The ebony-tressed woman watched Alla slink around the bar behind the manager. Furia looked at him, her face blank.

"Since when are you in charge?" Claudius asked thickly.

Furia said nothing, but she stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest.

He smacked the metal tube at the edge of the bar causing it to ring loudly. "Who do you think you are? You give my staff extra breaks. You undermine my authority. And you assault my customers?"

"Actually, he assaulted me, if you want to be specific."

"It's a strip club."

"This place has a damn no touching rule. Plus, I'm a bartender, not a dancer," Furia said. She may not want their job, but she was not about to disrespect any of the women trying to make a living there.

"Not anymore. You want to shake your ass? You have a job. Otherwise-"

"I'm out!"

Ginger had been watching the entire thing. She tossed Furia the black hoodie she always wore to and from her shifts. "See ya later, Sweetie," the tall black woman called putting her hand next to her ear like a phone and mouthing the words _call me_.

Furia winked at her friend and climbed over the bar, hopping into the crowd and exiting the club before the short rotund little man could come up with a response. When some guy grabbed her arm as she exited, Danny yanked the man by the arm and pushed him up against the wall smooshing his face into the damp bricks and mortar.

"If you need anything, you let me know," he ordered in his deep voice.

Furia shrugged. "I was getting tired of the repetitive music anyway."

Danny laughed and shook his head. "Take it easy."

She zipped up her sweatshirt and popped the hood over her smoothly tied back hair. "You know me," she replied playfully as she took a slow exaggerated step, adding a little bounce to it.

The guy he was leaning against started to more vocally protest, and Danny turned his attention to the handsy idiot as Furia jogged up to the corner. Checking her watch under the street lamp, she knew it was too late to grab a bus. But since she had walked out before the end of shift she also did not have the cash for a cab. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she resigned herself to the long walk home through the toughest neighborhoods in Stilwater.

Her fingers ran over the smooth case of her phone. She could call her brother or her uncle. Both of which would want to know why she was in this neighborhood. Her cousin Miguel would not be so curious, but his girlfriend Jen had a big mouth, and since she would be driving there was no chance she could be trusted to not let this slip. With a long deep breath Furia decided just to walk and attempt to be as unnoticeable as possible, which was pretty easy in the oversized hoodie and baggy jeans.

The first half of the trek had been fine; she was twenty blocks from home when she turned the wrong corner. The three guys in yellow were enough to prompt her and two of the hookers on that corner to cross the street just as a trio in blue strolled up. Furia knew the colors, knew the signs, and found herself wishing she had just sucked up listening to Memo bitch for the thirty minute ride back to her place.

She realized too late that she was one of the few people not smart enough or fast enough to have run when the Rollerz had shown up. The big engine purred deeply; it was a sound she could appreciate. But the red paint job got her looking for any escape route. When the gun fire started her stomach lurched, but when she barely missed being crushed by the out of control convertible she started cursing her stubbornness.

The one Carnales survivor fell to the spray of bullets from an assault rifle held by one of the blue-clad Rollerz, then the lone surviving VK in a yellow t-shirt topped by a white wife-beater tank top shot him. That confrontation ended with the Vice Kings on top. Furia pressed herself against the wall hoping he would not turn around. But he did.

"Wrong place. Wrong time, dawg!" he drawled as he seemed to turn toward her in slow motion.

Her mind drew everything out in those few seconds. Like it was trying to do that whole _life flashing before your eyes_ thing, but the DVD was scratched so it just seemed to eek by frame by frame.

Somehow she had managed to live in the Row for twenty-one years and never once found herself staring down the barrel of a gun, until that moment. Furia knew she was lucky. She knew just how rare that was. Her hand instinctively wrapped around the cross around her neck and she started mumbling the prayer she had memorized as a child. Even if she had not said it in years, the words were still on the tip of her tongue as she screwed her eyes shut with the realization that she did not want to see it coming.

The shot was not as loud as she expected. When she exhaled the ragged breath she was holding, Furia realized that she was in fact not dead. Furia opened her eyes just as a man crouched near her. Out of instinct she pulled away.

"You okay, playa?" he asked in a strong deep voice . She just shook her head and he helped her up. They did at least get around the corner before the car finally exploded.

_Damn shame, that_, Furia thought. That engine sounded like a work of art, even if it was crammed into such a poor example of machinery.

Julius helped her up the street, talking the entire time about the Row, the gangs, the violence. Troy, the one who had shot the guy that drew down on Furia, seemed extremely anxious. His eyes were constantly moving and he did not put his gun away, though he was no longer waving it around. . The three of them parted ways at the end of the next block, the older man in the leather jacket extending her an invitation.

Furia limped home as quickly as she could manage. She could not help but wonder if that was the same speech that her little brother had been given. For a moment she wondered if he had been recruited in a similar manner-some Saint intervening at the last moment, saving his life, then asking him to help clean up Stilwater. Memo was nineteen and his sister had wanted anything else for him than the type of death she had just been party too, but a part of her now understood what he had been thinking, because she was thinking it too.

_**-2-**_

The graveyard behind the Third Street Church was bustling with activity. The music was blaring out of the trunk of someone's convertible Compton. The sun was shining and it was not unbearably hot. Surprisingly, it was a downright nice day. Guillermo "Memo" Guerrero pushed the sleeves on his black denim jacket up; he was only wearing it so that no one outright saw the piece he was carrying. Entering the courtyard he took note not only of the people dancing-on the steps, in the grass, there was even someone's girlfriend on the hood of some supped up muscle car-but he also noticed who was standing around and who was paying attention.

Scrutiny rewarded him with a little information. A few of the guys looked a little worse for wear. There were four black eyes, half a dozen split lips, and one guy looked like his nose might be broken. When he paired that with the relatively fresh blood stains on the concrete he winced. _Fuck, I missed another canonization_.

"Hey cuz!" Miguel called as Memo approached the tree.

The six-foot-four-inch Latino nodded at the older man in the wheelchair. "¿Qué tal, guey?" Memo greeted taking his cousin's hand and leaning toward him landing a few powerful pats on his shoulder.

Miguel looked up and smiled widely. There was something in his eyes that made the tall man reply in kind. "Damn man, I can't believe you missed this."

"We get some new blood?"

The paralyzed mechanic laughed. "Did we get new blood?" He glanced up at his girlfriend laughing. "Look at this zorro. Seriously? Yeah, Saints got some new fucking blood all right. Hey Mikey D," Miguel yelled, eyeing Memo in a way that set him on edge.

Something was up. His cousin was way too revved up and being way too coy. Memo offered a cursory nod to the smaller white guy that joined them.

"Tell my perpetually late cousin here, what happened."

Mikey looked at him curiously, but complied. Memo studied the guy's face-black eye, split lip, a sweet little cut along his cheek bone, but there wasn't even a scratch on his knuckles. Mikey's description of events was scant at best. Whoever the new guy was, he had pulled a Gat on them and beaten the hell out of five guys and jacked up Thundercat's nose in the process.

Miguel took a playful slap at Mikey's leg and prompted, "Tell him the best part. I swear Memo, you're going to love this."

Mikey sighed heavily and ran his hand through his short hair. His embarrassment bubbled to the surface. "It was some chick."

"What the hell? Some _girl_ did that to your face?"Memo replied without engaging his inner censor.

Mikey glared at him.

"This was not some piece like Peaches and the other tricks. She was… I don't fucking know, but I …" He shook his head. "Shit, you remember how long you and I went at it before you knocked me out cold. I don't fuck around. But this bitch was a Buffy. Knocked me out cold in ten shots."

"Less," Miguel corrected. "And don't call her a bitch."

The last comment drew Memo's interest. "Who the fuck is she?"

"Man, I'm telling you I wish you would have been here. You've been waiting for a chance like this for years. I swear, cuz."

"Would you stop jerking me around Miguel, and tell me who the hell it is?"

"My cousin," Miguel said proudly.

Memo narrowed his dark eyes on the slightly older man. "Your cousin?" The little flick of Miguel's eyebrows made Memo's mind consider an option it should not be entertaining. "No."

Miguel nodded.

"No _fucking_ way."

Another nod.

"She would kick my ass if she knew I was flagged up."

"Oh please man, she knew before you were canonized," Miguel told him. "Even if you wear as little purple as possible. Fuck, you could go rolling around with no flag, and she would still know. She always finds out the shit you try to keep from her. It's her job man."

Memo wrapped his meaty paw around Mikey D's collar, still not sure he believed his cousin. "What was her name?"

"Who? Da chica that beat you boy's ass?" a nasally voice asked from a few steps behind them.

Memo did not look at her, he just stared at Mikey who looked a little scared. It was the way Memo preferred it. He was not a small man, and he was good at a few things-scaring people and beating them to a bloody quivering pulp.

Peaches strutted toward them and ruffled Mikey's hair before she finally caught Memo's eye. "So he's her baby brother?" she asked Miguel, poking a thumb at Memo. She shifted her weight and looked at the tallest of the bunch. "She said her name was Furia."

Memo's eyes went to Mikey's. The guy nodded furiously in agreement. The heat in Memo's blood prickled at his skin. Within a moment, he had loosed the battered boy and was leaning over his cousin trying to control the growl that was tingeing his voice. "You let her…"

"Don't get all alpha on me Guillermo. Nobody _lets_ Furia do anything. Shit, she would have beat me as bad as them or worse if I'd have tried to stop her again."

"Again?"

"I tried to talk her out of it. But she said it had to be done, man." Miguel tipped his head to the side which prompted Memo to stand and walk with him a little further away. When they stopped Memo crouched beside his cousin's chair. "You remember I told you she'd been coming to see me. Doing a little work here and there. She's been boosting for me. And don't look at me in that fucking tone of voice, cabrón."

"What are you talking about? Why would she be running for you?" Memo asked. He rubbed at his forehead. _Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't she come to me if she needed help? _Part of him was worried about what might be going on. He wanted to know what else she might be keeping from him.

Miguel leaned on the arm of his chair and looked at his cousin as he spoke in a quiet voice. "Whenever shit gets tight, she does a little work for me. Like when the twins were both playing ball at the same time." He shrugged and shook his head. "Look, man, she just said some shit's gotta change. Sounded kinda like you when I tried to talk you out of it."

As his cousin started to back away from him, Memo pulled him back. "What'd she say that convinced you? Because I know you wouldn't have just stepped aside and let her do this without calling me, unless she said something to sway you?"

Shaking his head, Miguel looked Memo in the eye. "She wants to make sure the little ones don't fall into all this," he said with a little gesture that suggested everything around them. "Furia said she wants to get to a point where life is more than g-strings and boosting cars."

The admission shocked Memo. Miguel did not seem too pleased to have been informed of it either. Furia's brother shot to his feet and all but yelled, "What?"

"Calm the fuck down, guey."

"She's been…" Memo closed his eyes and ran his hand across his forehead. "Please, fucking tell me, that my sister has not been …," he said slowly and quietly.

"I'm not going to tell you shit. Those were her words not mine. And no, I didn't ask for clarification. I really don't want to think about it truth be told. Because if I think about it then I'm going to have to get you and a few of the boys to break a few bones and make arrangements to crush a few cars."

Memo snorted slightly. "Yeah. I hear ya man."

"Look. She might have found her niche. The way she took those boys down. Fuck, she did it faster than you."

"She still here?"

"You see her?" Miguel said, stating the obvious. "No, Julius sent her out with Troy for her welcoming gift."

The younger man slipped his hand through longish hair. _At least she's not with Johnny,_ he thought. He knew his sister could hold her own, but he was not sure she could handle Johnny Gat's brand of action. At least with Troy, Memo figured she would set. He preferred Troy's more thought out approach to Johnny's kick in the front door choices.

Guillermo's eyes swept the courtyard again. The smile on his lips was hard to fight back as he took special note of the evidence she had left on some of their faces. One thing he knew, Furia was not going to end up some gangsta moll. She was either going to earn her stripes or stay a soldier. But Memo was not going to let any of these motherfuckers try to stake a claim to his older sister, he decided as he cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck.

**-3-**

Troy Bradshaw walked a few steps behind her. She had a great walk; as they walked toward Friendly Fire, he had taken a few moments to appreciate the smooth motion of body. After they left the store, he could see the difference in the way she moved as she tried to compensate for the new weight on her hips.

The way she had looked the previous night he had not expected her to show up at the church today. And he certainly could not have anticipated the way she handled her canonization. The memory of it made him shake his head. She certainly was not like the other women that usually hung around the church, of course, that had been abundantly clear last night when Julius tried to recruit her.

Julius Little was calculating and the Saints did need numbers, but he did not actively recruit girls. But when Julius had laid the hard sell on this one the night before, it had perked up Troy's ears. He didn't know her name or her face from any of the files or updates he received from his handler, which suggested she was completely new to the game, though he had overheard someone insinuate that she had family that were flagged up with the gang. Bradshaw guessed from Julius' reactions, both the previous night and when she showed up today, the leader of the Saints knew Furia, somehow.

"So, you grew up around here?"

She nodded then pointed past him. "About thirty, forty blocks East of here. Twenty minutes if the traffic's good, though it usually isn't. Hell, I was confirmed in that old church," she replied with a laugh.

"And everyone just calls you Furia?" Troy was feeling her out. He needed a name he could search if need be.

"Been called that since I learned to walk. Why? Does it not fit?" She turned and was facing him, walking backward carefully with a mischievous grin painted on her lips, as if daring him to disagree.

Troy shrugged and flicked away the cigarette he finished. She certainly was fierce and tenacious, but he could see it in her eyes, the reality beneath the bravado. This was not something she was wholly comfortable with, and in that moment he really wanted to be able to give her an out. Except there was no escape he could offer. She was in.

"Just like to know what I'm working with," he finally answered.

She turned again and tucked her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. "Determined," she replied, her voice stoic. "You're working with determined and focused." This time when she glanced at him he knew that was the truth, sans the bluster.

"I can deal with that."

When they turned the corner, both stopped in their tracks. The trio in yellow were just loitering about halfway up the block-two of them leaning on an ugly gold beater, while a third was just lounging on a stoop.

Furia took a deep breath, staring at them. "So this is the test, eh? Should be fine," she stated. He could hear it; she was trying to convince herself of this fact as much as him. She unzipped her hoodie and tossed it at Troy.

Bradshaw could not help but stare, the baggy jeans and the massively oversized hoodie had not hinted at her shape. But the little halter top offered a much more revealing look at her physique-she was slim with a hint of supple muscle under soft-looking skin. Staring transfixed was not the best option, he knew, but his mind rebelled just taking it all in. Her hands untwisted and loosened her raven hair. After she slipped the black elastic around her wrist, Furia ruffled her wavy tresses a little, letting them fall down her back and over her shoulders. She winked at him with a little smirk as she turned and walked up the street.

He stayed back, moving slowly. She was right, this was her test, but she was not completely on her own. He was there to make sure no one got the drop on her and to help out if he needed to. _Of course, you might be more help, if you stop staring at her ass_, he reminded himself. Her walk seemed less effected now by the weight of the pistol in the holster at the small of her back. _Not the best choice, but at least they can't see it yet_. Bradshaw figured the change in her movement was because she was trying to seem innocuous and distracting.

_And distracting she has down. Innocuous. Not a chance. But they don't know that._ There was nothing harmless, safe, or bland about the woman sashaying down 12th Street. Furia reminded him of one of those brightly colored venomous snakes-attractive and dangerous. But precisely how deadly, he could not be sure of yet.

The sharp whistle made Troy halt, he turned toward a car parked illegally close to a fire hydrant and set her hoodie on the trunk, burying his own pistol in the loose fabric as he waited for it to start. In truth, he had expected more hesitation on her part.

"Hey now. What have we here?" the one on the stoop asked, leaning forward and leering at her pointedly.

"I don't know, but caramel is my favorite," a short round white kid in yellow added.

"Aww. That's too bad," Furia purred. "I prefer something a little stronger than vanilla."

Troy tried not to laugh, as the man on the stoop started to stand and walked toward her. _Damn he's a big sonuvabitch_. The guy looked at least 6'3" if not more and he towered over Furia. But she did not miss a beat, she shifted to her left just so. The movement was quick and smooth. When the shot rang out they were all surprised.

Vanilla grabbed her gun and Furia kneed him in the groin. As the third was trying to get his pistol out of his coat, Troy drew his own. But she already had it under control. Furia had taken the white kid's bat and swung wide, cracking the third man in the jaw with it. The sickeningly moist sound was annunciated by the crack of the bat against bone.

Bradshaw stopped cold when she stood over Vanilla. The bat head tapped the cement next to the kid's ear.

"Respect is a precious commodity," she said calmly as she leaned over the man who had referred to her as a sweet little treat. Neither Troy nor the Vice King banger had a chance to even consider what was about to happen until after she swung the bat like Tiger Woods on the fairway.

Reclaiming her gun, she walked over to the other one in yellow who was still breathing and fired a round into his chest. He had to admit she was efficient and attentive to her situation.

When she glanced back at him, Bradshaw stopped cold. It was almost like looking at a different person. As she walked toward him, he saw it shift again, not quite back to the playful young woman he had been talking to before they turned the corner but the darkness seemed to have dissipated. She looked a little surprised, maybe even shocked that it had been so smooth. But then these types of things usually were-they were either quick and visceral or they wound up a total clusterfuck.

He did not miss a beat as he swung her hoodie over her shoulders and leaned her against the trunk of the Vice Kings ostentatious car. The big guy had the keys and once Troy palmed them, he pushed Furia into the passenger seat, tossing the bat into the back. _No need to put her on anyone's radar just yet, _he told himself as he slipped into the driver's seat.

Neither of them said a word as he steered them away from the scene. He just kept checking on her periodically as he drove more carefully than normal away from the scene. The silence was nerve wracking, but he left the radio off, though he had quickly lit up after they got in the car. After about ten blocks, Bradshaw started to relax a little. _If she had not wigged out by, then she was not going to._

"Stop the car!"

Troy slammed the brakes. He was not surprised by the reaction, in fact he had expected it long before now. His own response to taking a life for the first time had been similar, he recalled as he steered the car into the alley she had dashed down. Tapping the steering wheel he considered his options. He grabbed the bottle of what looked like water out of the console and unscrewed the lid as he climbed out.

Opting to give her a moment to collect herself, Troy hopped up onto the front of the car and waited. He tapped a cigarette out of his nearly empty pack and lit it. He could see her shoulder, she was leaning against the wall; he assumed she was playing it over in her head. It was normal. Hell, he still replayed every shot, he thought as he flicked nervously at the filter, scattering ash on the feint breeze.

Furia looked a little pale when she finally approached the car. She leaned against the hood next to him and he offered her the bottle.

"It's vodka," he warned.

She nodded once, a strained little curl on her lips as she took the bottle. "Probably better that way."

"You might be right."

She spat a mouthful across the cement then took a long pull.

"Whoa, now," Troy said after the third gulp, wrapping his hand around hers. "That's not going to help. Trust me."

Her eyes met his.

"First time, huh?"

"How could you tell?" she quipped, looking away from him, eyes lowering to her feet.

He twisted the cap back on the water bottle. "The first one is always tough. Even if it's something like that. Hell, even if it's you or them. It is still not easy."

"Looked easy last night," she noted, glancing back over at him.

Troy stared down the alley not meeting her gaze. "Yeah well. After a while, in certain situations, it can be. Last night was a different circumstance," he admitted, finally letting himself look at her. "Going on the offense like you did back there can be a little tough to wrap your head around."

"Not really," she replied, as she stood and walked up the alley a few steps. "I just remembered that guy from last night. It was him and me, times three."

He nodded thoughtfully and took a swig of the cheap alcohol. "Goddamn."

Furia laughed lightly, as she turned back toward him.

"What the hell is this?" Troy choked out with a rough cough.

"If I had to venture a guess," she said, stealing the bottle from him and taking another drink. The face she made had to be at least as bad as his reaction to it. "Probably Aristocrat or some other rail brand."

Troy narrowed his eyes at her.

"You know that rack that bartender's go to first?" Furia explained.

He nodded.

"That's the rail. It's generic alcohol, cheap and tastes like crap. Generally, just poor quality alcohol. Most of the time you only mix with it." Furia took another drink.

"How can you stomach that? I mean I've had some swill, but that's worse than jet fuel."

She smiled, walking around to the passenger side of the car. "You'd be surprised what you can stomach when you're broke."

When she offered him the bottle again, Troy declined, he wanted to keep whatever was left of his stomach lining, which that crap was probably chewing away at that very moment. For a moment he thought she was going to take another drink, but instead she poured it out and tossed the bottle into the dumpster past him.

"Nice shot, Magic, now get in the car."

"Can I drive?"

Troy eyed her carefully for a second then tossed her the keys. She hurried past him, tugging off her hoodie and tossing it in through the window as she stretched. At first he looked at her for any sign that she was struggling with what happened, then he found himself studying the subtle tone of her bare midriff and her arms. The reprieve from his distraction came when she slipped into the driver's seat.

There was a gleeful twinkle in her eyes as she put the key in the ignition. The purr in her voice was entirely too alluring when she gazed over at him and asked, "So do you want to see what this fugly beast can do?"

"Sure," Troy replied bravely.

As she hit the gas he instinctually grabbed the handle on the door as she shifted through the gears more quickly than he thought she should. Luck seemed to be with her when she was behind the wheel. He was not quite convinced that it was skill. Even when she managed to get them from the alley to the street without a wreck, but she was right about one thing the metallic gold beast had something under the hood to hide.


	2. Lost

**Summary: **After killing someone for the first time Furia finds herself trying to wrap her head around her actions and the thoughts surrounding that incident. Troy magnanimously offers her a way our from under her own uncertainty and doubt surrounding her actions and reactions to the trying situation. And thanks again to Chy who gave this a few reads to help me get it just right.

* * *

**Solitude: Before I See**

**02 Lost**

**-1-**

Furia leaned on the hood looking up at the puffy white clouds over Stilwater, the day was still bright and a just warm enough. Troy was still talking to one of his boys, or so she assumed, probably telling him what supplies to bring and where to take them. She had suggested taking the car to Miguel who could have it in so many pieces no one would ever be the wiser within a matter of hours, but Bradshaw had nixed that idea in exchange for a show. He was going to torch the Vice King's ride in Carnales territory.

_There is a certain poetry to it, considering last night_. _It is merely a shame that there aren't any Rollerz to litter about the scene_. When the thought fully registered it made her shiver and she tugged her jacket back up on her shoulders. She swallowed at the lump growing in her throat, as she wrapped her arms around herself. The thought had felt so natural but at the same time it felt so foreign to her; that was not the way she was brought up.

Sliding up on the hood, she propped her feet on the bumper and watched him, propping her elbows on her knees. He was rather animated when he spoke, his gestures centered around the cigarette he was alternately puffing the hell out of then ignoring for a time. As he finished it, he lifted it to his lips between his thumb and forefinger and took a long slow drag. His eyes met hers when he flicked it away.

"Yeah, Jules, she's good," he said before he turned his back on her.

Furia smiled, she only barely heard the report, though she wondered if it was a compliment about how she handled herself or a diagnosis of her current state. It made her body relax a little, either way it was a plus, though her mind was still racing. She could still see the surprise in the first VK's eyes. He really had not expected her to shoot him. The guy with the smart ass caramel line had looked positively panicked. But his fear had not registered with her until after. The third she chose not to look at beyond aiming the gun. But for some reason, those men's faces just kept flashing in her brain.

As it all flickered in her mind she hopped off the hood, choosing movement instead of stillness for a time. The toe of her boot bounced lightly against the tire while she leaned against the hood, screwing her eyes shut tight as she tried to think about the reasons she used to convince herself to take up Julius' invitation. But no matter how hard she tried to wipe the images out of her head, or at least change them to something she could deal with, they just kept coming. But it was strange.

The hand placed in the center of her back made her jump. Troy pulled his hand back when she reacted, then they both took a step back.

"You all right?" he asked, staring at her.

"Sure," Furia said first, but she could see he was not buying it. "I don't know." It had only taken a half a minute of him looking at her like that for her to cave. He was studying her-his eyes were scrutinizing but warm, the slight frown suggested he might be disappointed that she had not been immediately and completely forthcoming with him.

Everything she had done in the last hour or so was so far out of her comfort zone, she was not even sure how to even start reconciling it. First the fight, that she had done before, though mostly one-on-one, only a handful of times had things gotten out of control and wound up all out brawls like what happened at the church. But Twelfth Street was something altogether different.

Guns were not something wholly unknown to her, but they were unfamiliar. She had felt incredibly foolish when it had been so easily knocked from her hands. She still could not be sure what had possessed her to pick up the bat. _Self-preservation_, she realized when she remembered the panicked look on the face of the young man searching for his gun. The thing she had the hardest time with was her response to the idiot.

"Tell me about it," Troy suggested, his tone even and warm, engaging. Troy did not try to get closer to her, but his look became almost comforting.

"What?" A part of her wanted to talk about it, while another wondered if it was what she was supposed to do Beyond the big weighing _if_ she should discuss it with anyone, she did not even really know how. Even with him, who had been standing not thirty feet from it all.

With a little flick of the wrist a cigarette just seemed to effortlessly slide out of the pack. He offered it toward her, she shook her head and he took it instead. She watched the flame lick at the tobacco as he lit it, then he looked at her again as he pocketed the black plastic lighter.

"In detail," he said, letting out a smooth trail of smoke. "Tell me everything that happened. Every thought that went through your head. Every little action."

Furia looked at him curiously. "You were there. You saw it."

"Yeah I saw it from up the street. It isn't always the same as being right there in it."

"What does it matter where you were standing? I shot two guys and teed off on a guy's face," she said shaking her head. Furia leaned on the hood of the car and curled her arms around her head.

"Trust me. It might help."

When the silence dragged on, Troy prompted her. "Why did you take off your sweatshirt?"

"Because guys are stupid, no offense," she replied without really thinking about it. "If I only had on this-" she faced him again and opened her jacket showing him the scant halter again "-they would only see the cleavage-bearing top and the low slung jeans, which is why I took my hair down. A girl ready for a fight would have her hair up, unless she's stupid."

"And why'd you cut down the little guy?"He leaned against the hood, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"Guys like that just irk me."

"I could tell."

Her melodic laugh was colored slightly by a dark maniacal note. "Dogging him meant the big guy thought he stood a chance," she explained, glancing over at Troy through the corner of her eye, he was looking back at her from a similar perspective. Both of them leaned against the gold beater, not really looking at the other, but still peeking from time to time. "The one in charge was the fella on the stoop. When I walked up, they both looked to him. He was in charge and I saw his handgun in his belt. He felt like the biggest threat, so I needed to deal with him first."

"I agree. He even worried me a little," Bradshaw admitted.

Their attention turned to the sound of tires in the dirt. There were two engines rather than one, which she had not expected. A vibrant purple Hammerhead pulled in and skidded to a stop as a sleek little black Bootlegger pulled in behind it. The driver of the first car revved the engine one more time before shutting off the engine.

_Yeah, you wish_, Furia thought. Hammerheads could get out of the gate fast and handled pretty well, but even when they were supped up they were little more than average. _Though they certainly are pretty._

Her grandfather loved cars. And it was an appreciation that seemed to run in her family. Her uncle Antonio owned a little shop on the east side, where Furia nurtured an unnatural appreciation for powerful engines, while her cousin Miguel developed more useful skills. Regardless of the fact she had not been allowed to work on cars, she still loved them and especially loved driving them. To her every one was unique with its own quirks and surprises. _Kind of like people_, she thought as Troy walked toward the purple car.

The Hammerhead did not capture her attention, Furia's eyes were however glued to the black sedan. _Pure American muscle_, she thought as she approached it slowly. Every detail of it was enticing-the gloss paint job that looked like it was hand polished to enhance the shine; the white walls were virtually pristine, which she knew was no easy task in this city; and the chrome was flawless.

"Someone loves you," she said quietly as she dragged her fingertips along the ridge of the hood. The Bootlegger was gorgeous, and if the deep purr she had heard beneath the growl of the purple coupe was any indication, this ebony beauty was hiding something sexy under her hood.

**-2-**

All three of the other Saints were watching her. "Damn, she really loves cars," Paulie noted as he tilted his head, watching Furia circle the vehicle touching it delicately and eying it almost as lecherously as the three men were her.

"You bring what I told you?" Troy asked, a little impatient, in part because the guys were holding things up, but also because he did not care for the way his boys were ogling the newest Saint. Of course, Troy knew he did not have room to judge on that front. Furia was built to draw attention, and she had surely captured Troy's.

Thundercat climbed out of his Hammerhead and opened the trunk. The bandage over his nose merely made his injuries stand out. Both his eyes were blackening from the force of the hit Furia had landed at the canonization, which had knocked the kid cold. To add salt to the wound, the injured man seemed a little offended that she did not seem to appreciate of his ride.

"Keys!" Troy said and Paulie tossed them over. "Think you boys can handle a little fire? Or do you need some help?"

"Nah, we got this," Thundercat said with another glance over at the woman, who was leaning in the driver's side window.

Troy assumed she was looking for the hood latch by the way she was stretching. If her driving was any indication, she might just be another Lin. His walk hitched with the thought. Furia had already shown that she was willing to earn her place in the Saints. Julius seemed to require just that from the moment he pitched her. Then there was that showing in the graveyard, even Lin had not fared that well, and after Furia cold cocked the first guy who came at her none of the females would go in against her.

He whistled sharply as he walked toward the car. When she looked at him, he yelled, "Stop flirting with my car."_Goddamn_, he thought as she folded her arms on the roof and rested her chin on them.

"You expect me to believe this is yours?" she asked with a challenging grin.

One of the gas cans hit the ground with a loud thud. With a glance back Troy confirmed that the two kids he had called were again more interested in the Latina who had been touching Bradshaw's Bootlegger suggestively than the task at hand but he chose to ignore them.

"What I strike you as a guy with poor taste?"

"Not sure. But you don't strike me as a guy who could handle a ride like this."

"Get in the car," he ordered as he rounded the vehicle. The look in her eyes felt like a challenge, and there was a part of him that wanted to take her up on it.

She leaned on the door then had the nerve to smirk at him and hold her hand out. "If you won't let me look, can I at least give her a try?"

Troy smiled and shook his head, twirling the keys around his index finger before closing them in his fist. "Not a fucking chance," he said with a little laugh.

The sigh contained a note of exasperation that was magnified by the little roll of her eyes. She turned quickly and yanked the door open before she crawled across the front seat. Troy could not decide if she trying to goad him deliberately or if it was purely incidental, whichever it was there was a little voice reminding him that he was supposed to keep his distance from the Saints. Though that was a directive he had already failed at in too many ways to count anymore.

This time the radio was on, so he got a one cigarette reprieve from his fascination with her. It was the reason he refused to let her drive. On the way to the clearing that the Carnales used for disposal of all sorts, he could not help but stare at her. It was less about ogling and more about trying to figure her out, though his observation had not been entirely innocent.

This choice, joining the Saints, did not seem to fit her. Well, it did not fit what he had seen so far. She was quick on the uptake, and described herself as determined. He just could not figure out why she would put herself in this type of life. And why she would go this route when most of the girls that came into the Saints stayed on the fringe, most of them never actually going through the canonization. Instead they would just latch onto someone and become part of the gang in the most tenuous sense.

Bradshaw glanced over at her; Furia had her chin in her hand as she leaned on the car door, watching the city of Stilwater pass by. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he finished the first cigarette and immediately lit a second. He rubbed his fingertips against his forehead for a moment, trying to get his mind back on track then looked at her again. When she tugged her jacket a little tighter, Troy recalled their earlier conversation and traced back through it quickly.

"You said you knew the big guy had to go first, why?" he asked.

There was a trace of surprise on her face when she looked over at him.

He nodded at her.

"Wha-? Oh." Furia shook her head a moment. "The other two were younger, seemed more nervous I guess. The one on the stoop was calmer, relaxed. Something told me he wouldn't panic when the shots started."

Troy nodded, his eyes on the road.

"I didn't really think when the little guy grabbed me, but it's a good thing he had that bat."

"I had your back."

"I know," Furia said, her eyes on his when he looked over at her.

He held her gaze for as long as he dared, not certain if he could not look away or if it was more of a preference to not break her gaze. But the blare of the horn drew his attention back to the road. When he flipped off the other driver who was rightfully honking at him, she chuckled at him. It was a promising reprieve to the cloudy uncertainty she had exhibited since that incident.

"What about the other guy?" Troy suggested.

Initially, she said nothing. Her hand moved up and down her arm slowly as she stared out the window.

Uncertain as to why he did it, Troy pulled over on the empty street and threw the car into park. She looked over at him sharply in response.

"Look, I swear I'm not trying to be some jerk and make you go back through it all. It is just that sometimes when you look at what happened you can see where things went wrong or right. It can make it easier to deal with."

Furia turned toward him, and said, "That's the thing. It wasn't the choices so much that I have the issue with. Once I turned that corner, what was going to happen was going to happen. Whether I did it, or got myself into something hairy and you had to do it. With the big guy, I only thought about how to get it done, what the easiest way to lure him was. The kick and the first swing, were reactionary."

Turning and slumping down in the seat, she stared straight out the window. Troy felt bad for her. Taking a life could be tough to deal with. Even more so when you were just walking into something like the situation he had led her into. He felt a little responsible for her current state and so he pushed. But he also knew there was something more to it.

Tapping her shoulder with the back of his hand drew her eyes back to him. "I know it's not quite the same thing, but I understand. Things aren't always clear. My first-" _God help me. _He had not thought about that in so long; sure the face came back to him from time to time, but not so often as it had.

"I was about twenty. It was a screwed up situation. Two gangs shooting it out. I turned a corner and was barrel-to-barrel with a kid who couldn't have been more than thirteen, if he was a day." Troy stared at the dash clock. "I asked him to put it down. Begged him, if you want to know the truth."

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

One corner of his mouth kicked up for a second as he tilted his head. "He was shaking so bad, the shot barely grazed me. I shot after he did. I just wasn't quite as nervous."

Finding her hazel eyes on him was more comforting than he expected.

"That wasn't an easy call. And I hesitated. It was him or me, and if he had not been just some nervous kid, I probably wouldn't be here."

"But it wasn't clear cut for you."

"Still isn't," he revealed. "That kid. He shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have had to make that call. And he shouldn't be dead because some jackass put a gun in his hands and sent him out into that shit."

"You're right."

"So tell me," Troy said, braving the increasing intensity.

"It seems so … misguided." Furia retreated slightly, leaning against the door as she stared at him. "All I could hear was what he said when I walked up."

With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hands. "I've heard it so many times, usually I just ignore it, but this time I could respond the way I've always kind of wanted to. I guess in some weird way right then it wasn't just him," she said, finally straightening again. "It's really just outlandish. I mean, last night I almost break some bastard's wrist and today I crack some idiot's skull open for catcalling me."

"Guess I'll have to remember not to refer to you as caramel," he said lightly.

"Or mamacita," she added with a sly smile.

"Now see, I kind of like that one," Troy said as he started the car again.

Furia shook her head and rolled her eyes at him.

"It happens," Troy said. "Shit, it happens to Johnny every twenty minutes."

"What? Being called mamacita?"

"Not quite. Though I think I'd pay to see that happen." He grabbed the pack of cigarettes tucked in the visor above him, and tapped the car's lighter. "Killing some guy for the shit another motherfucker pulled. One guy in the place pulls a gun, and they all hit the floor. But he's the extreme. Though I've been there a few times myself."

He took a long drag as he thumbed the window down a touch.

"You might be right. And I think I'd pay to see someone call Johnny Gat mamacita."

"You have no idea." There was no guarantee that she was beyond what happened earlier, but there was no question that she did not seem to be quite so overwhelmed by it either. He knew talking about it had helped him find a way to deal with it back then, though he never really talked about things since. Turning onto Third Street, Bradshaw resolved to keep an eye on her, though he knew that might be tough since she would be rolling with Julius' crew.


	3. Foundations

Summary: Proving yourself is never easy. In doing so Furia has a chance to show off her skills, as well as unintentionally showcase her lack of familiarity with firearms. After eluding the cops, she drops of Julius and Troy at the church and heads to her cousins shop where she and her brother finally have a chance to talk about her new path in life. All the while, Julius and his lieutenants are discussing the newest soldier to join their ranks.

**A/N:** Thanks to Chy who is the most wondrous person ever. Thank you for the read through and putting up with the random ramblings. Translations are at the end of the text.

* * *

**03 Foundations**

**-1-**

* * *

Troy dropped Furia off at the church that afternoon, which afforded her some much needed time to find a way to work her choices out for herself. The next day was busy and started with a phone call from a number she did not know, but she remembered the voice. Dex's voice was distinct-high-pitched for a man but just as smooth as Johnny's. After he had told her where to meet his man Javier, the question sprang to mind. _How the hell did he have my phone number?_ She had not thought to give it to anyone and it was not like there was an application to join the Saints. When her phone rang again, she realized how. Her cousin had a big goddamn mouth sometimes, though his girlfriend, Jen was far worse than Miguel could ever aim for.

On the way to meet Dex's guy she placed a call to let Mrs. Nguyen know that she would probably not be in for the next few days. The older woman, the wife of the man who owned the local dry cleaners, told her that would be fine. She did not ask any questions, thankfully. But Furia knew that she would have to figure out a way to break that tie, though not before she closed out the books for the month.

Furia classified the events of the last few days as tests, she was not quite sure they were anything more than assessments of what she could do and how far she was willing to go. That perception of things was supported by the fact that she got yet another chaperone. On Dex's little errand-she and some kid younger than Memo were sent to clear out an abandoned storefront that the Carnales were dealing out of. When the crew boss took off, the pair of Saints gave chase. Furia could not help the puffed up chest that accompanied Javier's raving about her driving to anyone within earshot once they returned to the church. Sure, she had traded paint with a retaining wall and a few other cars, while proving that Slingshots cannot fly worth a damn, but Furia drove the hell out of the little jallopie they had confiscated.

When they got back to the church, Javier reported to Dex, but Furia did not even make it into the courtyard before Julius volun-told her for another gig. Gun play was not her forte, at least until she was being shot at. Through attention and timing, combined with the wide spray of a shotgun, Furia at least did not look like as poor a shot as she knew she was. When she ran out of shells, she fell back to the handgun she was not particularly comfortable with.

Mimicking Julius at one point and Troy at another, then trying to hold it any other way that might work, she found it was futile. At one point she resorted to just sneaking up on a guy who was firing at one of the others in purple and pistol whipping him before confiscating his submachine gun. It was not any easier to aim. But in the same vein as the shotgun, put enough flying bits of lead in the air and someone's going to get hit with something. What she lacked in skill she made up for in tenacity and creativity sprinkled with enough will to survive to make her dangerous enough to be of note.

Her shooting might have left something to be desired, but her driving was untouchable. Troy stared out the back window, while Julius alternately watched where they were going as well as checking on the cops behind them.

"Why are you slowing down?" Troy yelled about two minutes into the chase.

"Because the hole between that pickup and the garbage truck is just a little too tight," Furia noted, watching the intersection in front of her. _And pedestrians and two tons of metal don't mix well._ When the sidewalk cleared first, she laid on the horn and jumped the curb. The warning worked, thankfully, the one person on her alternate route jumped a guardrail just as the car veered onto the walkway.

Once back on the street she shifted through the gears quickly; standards were her favorite vehicles, so much more control, at least in her opinion. With a glance in the mirror she saw two sets of flashing lights follow through that intersection while one was stupid enough to misjudge and get stuck in the tight spot she had avoided.

_Where am I? _she asked herself. She did not have the entire city wired, but on the south side she knew how to hide and where the sketchy short cuts were. Both of her passengers cursed vehemently when she fishtailed the car and turned up an alley. Troy and Julius were both less concerned with the cops behind them as she accelerated down the thin alley.

The alley ended with an outlet onto a thin street, and as she sped toward the row of brick houses Furia felt Troy's knee press into the back of her seat as he braced himself.

"Umm. You see that right, playa?" Julius said as calmly as the situation garnered.

"Mmhmm," she hummed as the car sped up.

Driving a car for her was like chess for other people. Furia was always thinking a turn ahead, and in this part of town she could think a little farther than that if she was feeling brave, which she was. At least she was until she saw the red and blue lights shining on the houses in front of her.

"This might get a little interesting," she stated calmly.

**-2-**

* * *

_Interesting? She calls this interesting. Jesus Christ! _Troy thought as he sat back up and looked out the back window at the patrol car Furia had just sideswiped.

"Might want to tone it down a bit, playa," Julius noted, still hanging onto the drunk handle like it might somehow help.

He looked tense, Julius' mouth was drawn into a thin line and his hands were tight around the handle and the center console. If Troy had to guess, the boss might even be pressing himself into the back of the seat. It was kind of funny to see Julius Little ruffled. It did not happen often.

The older man was the stark contrast of their driver. Furia was calm, relaxed, and keen on her task. Maybe too much so Troy noted as he rubbed at the back of his head, which had bounced off the side window when she made the turn out of the alley. Using the cop car, which had tried to block them in, was a little ingenious, though painful, at least for Troy who had not put on a seat belt. In a way he was glad for that fact, it was as likely as not that the hit could have done ugly things with a belt fastened.

"Yeah, if you don't tone it down they are going to lock down this neighborhood," Troy added, holding onto the back of the driver's seat as she slid into another turn.

"They can try," Furia replied in a calm calculated way. She was focused, eyes darting to mirrors and returning to the road as she wove in and out of lanes drawing more than a few concerned honks as well as various yells and hand gestures. She took another right and headed in the direction they had just come from.

"What are you doing?" Julius asked, concern tingeing his deep voice.

"They expect me to go west or north, the general direction I've been going the entire time. They won't be watching intersections south of where they last spotted me."

Troy just leaned back in his seat. She was dead on. If he had to put money on it, there were cars rushing for the Barrio district, which meant it might be possible to cruise to the church in relative safety. Or so he thought until Furia pulled into an alley and parked the car in a little alcove.

"What are you doing?" Julius questioned with widened eyes when she turned the car off.

Furia laid her arms on the steering wheel and looked over at the boss. "I just wrecked at least three of their marked cars. I'm pretty sure I might have even run one of their unmarkeds into a telephone pole. This car," she said rubbing her hand over the dash, "is too hot. It should go relatively unnoticed, at least for a few hours."

The men followed when she climbed out of the car. "Plus, it's a nice night," she noted, zipping her hoodie and flipping up the hood. "A little walk never killed anyone. I'll find us something a few blocks away and get you two back all safe and sound. Nothing to worry about."

Julius and Troy shared a look. Neither could argue, because she was right. Every cop in the city had the tags and description on the car they were walking away from. He hazarded a guess as to where the idea had come from-it was a booster's mentality when it came to trouble, at least the smart ones. Steal it. Stash it. Pick it up when the heat died down. At least that's what the guys from Auto Theft told him before he started this gig.

"Where'd you learn to drive like that?" Julius queried as the two men caught up to her.

"Exactly where you think I learned," Furia retorted.

Julius looked a little shocked by the response. "Antonio?"

"Yep. He wouldn't let me work on them but he let me drive. Miguel taught me a few other useful skills after he and his Dad split ways."

The trace of a smirk on her lips confirmed what the mechanic had already revealed to Troy and Julius. She stalked toward the little convertible, eying it carefully. Troy was taken aback when she slid onto the trunk then immediately slipped off. With a smile she rounded the car and hopped into the driver's seat, almost immediately ducking under the dash. "Get in!"

There was a distinct disadvantage to being the second in command Troy realized as he climbed into the tiny backseat of the convertible while Julius stretched out in the front seat of the Cosmos. It was one of the reasons Troy hated convertibles, the backseat was little more than perfunctory. By the time Julius closed the door, Furia was upright and waiting for a window in traffic.

_The Auto Theft Unit would love to get their hands on you_, he thought as he watched her lean back in the driver's seat. Furia looked completely relaxed and unperturbed that she was driving a vehicle she had just hotwired. Hell, if he were a uniform and saw her drive by he would never guess the vehicle was stolen. His theory was checked when they passed one of Stilwater's finest, lights twirling, but the officer did not even cast more than a glance at the convertible.

**-3-**

* * *

The rocks crunched beneath the tires of the light-colored breezer as it approached the warehouse set far off the corner. The garage door was open and both Miguel and Memo took note of the vehicle after the headlights went out. Miguel grinned with the driver climbed out. Furia hit the switch and the door closed behind her.

"If memory services, you've been looking for one of this, haven't you, cuz?" she said with a playful look as she patted the corner of the windshield.

"Always. Those suckers are like candy to those little sorority girls. They love this shit."

Furia pulled her leather gloves off and eyed her brother, who was standing behind Miguel with an intense scowl etching his dark features.

"Well," Miguel said with a trace of nervousness. "I'll just get you-"

"No," Furia interrupted, slapping the leather driving gloves against her palm then looking from her brother to her cousin. "No, get it to Tia Paola. Socorro's art lessons are starting again soon, and I need to get her tuition for the year paid up."

Miguel heard Memo shift behind him. The mechanic was not sure that between the two volatile siblings was where he wanted to be at that moment.

**-4-**

* * *

"How'd it go?" Johnny asked as Julius and Troy walked in.

_That's one hell of a loaded question_, Julius thought as he shook his head. "I'll be honest I'm not sure how to answer that."

"We're back in one piece," Troy noted.

Julius' laugh was strained. "True."

"So what happened?" Dex asked eying the boss.

Julius gave them the run down. The response had gone fine, though Furia's aim left a little something to be desired. Her determination matched that of her grandfather. Put a task in front of her and Julius was pretty sure it was going to get done, though he knew he would likely not be able to predict how she might accomplish it, even if the plan was laid out for her. Then there was the getaway. _Goddamn that girl can drive_.

"I'm not sure whether to recommend you let her drive or not. But shit, if you're being chased-you want that girl behind the wheel. Just don't try to figure out what she's going to do while she's there." The boss chuckled with a shake of his head, he had guessed wrong at almost every corner.

"So she's as good as Miguel says then?" Dex asked, leaning forward onto the table and steepling his fingers in a thoughtful way.

"Better," Troy said.

"And she's quick on her feet. Knows the streets. It was like she knew just how to bait the cops," Julius noted. "She riled them enough. Then used their tactics against them."

"Miguel did say she's been doing this for a while. I'd expect she does know how the berries react, especially since she has no jacket."

"That's all fine and good. But can she shoot?" Gat inquired.

Troy winced and shrugged one shoulder. "She makes due."

"Damn." There was a trace of exasperation in Johnny's voice.

"Look, Lin's the only other real driver we have. And the way she took down your boys in the churchyard, that was damn impressive. That is where her experience lies. With a little time and practice her aim should steady up," Julius stated, slipping into the chair behind his desk.

"And if it doesn't just give her damn shotgun," Troy said as he slid his lighter back in his pocket and took a drag off his cigarette. "She had no trouble with that one."

"True." Julius chuckled. He leaned forward and laid his forearms on the desk, his eyes moving around the room. He knew the question that was coming next, and his answer might not sit well. "I'm pulling rank. She'll run with my crew. So feel free to pick her up if you have something that she can help with. But for the next week or so, she's with Lin. She wants to have Furia up there before she gets tagged as a Saint."

Johnny looked over at Troy. "Want to draw straws?"

Troy just laughed and shook his head. "Why not?"

"No." Julius did not want Gat any more distracted than Aisha and the Vice Kings already had him. "Troy help her out. See if we can't get her squared away."

"You got it, Jules."

Julius nodded, which prompted Johnny and Dex to leave. But he halted Troy's exit with an upheld hand. "Her brother is one of yours," Little announced, taking off his hat and running his hand over his head. "Memo is not going to like this one bit."

"Can't say as I'd blame him," Troy countered.

"Well, keep him on a tight leash and don't let him interfere."

"I'll do what I can."

"And I want you to keep an eye on her. Help her out if she needs it."

"What's this about Julius?" Troy asked, leaning his knuckles on the desktop and looking at the boss curiously.

"Just do as your told," Julius bit back.

Troy leaned back, the annoyance clearly etched in his features. "Sure thing, Boss."

Julius just watched his second leave. The leader of the Saints leaned back in his chair. Furia reminded him of her grandfather. Quick on her feet, talented, and most of all determined. He was fairly certain he knew why she had taken his invitation and shown up at the church. After her grandfather died she was the head of her family for all intents and purposes, as the oldest of seven. She came to the Third Street Church for more than respect, or money, or the myriad of other reasons some of the others had. Julius was fairly certain her reasons were more grounded, just like her grandfather's had been when he started his little smuggling operation on the docks.

Alejandro Guerrero had kept his eyes on the prize. His operation never got big enough to draw attention from anyone. He took care of his people and his customers. And he never got greedy. It is how the man managed to be one of the most solid smugglers in Stilwater and one of the least known for nearly a decade. Julius Little had admired his style, and he hoped Furia might favor the old man and bring a little more of that calmer perspective to the Saints. At least she would, if Julius was lucky.

**-5-**

* * *

Miguel was glad to have escaped before it all started. In truth, he was pretty sure they were waiting for him to leave. The fact that the office's plywood walls and thin glass windows really did not muffle any sound from the shop did not seem to matter to his cousins. Glad that Jen was already at their apartment, Miguel just waited out the storm raging in the other room. He only hoped that it would not cost him a windshield or a quarter panel, which was one of the reasons he leaned on the desk and watched the drama unfold through the greasy windows.

"What were you thinking, Tati [i]?" Memo growled.

"Don't fucking start with me, Memo. You've been flagged up for the last four months. I'm not that blind or that damn stupid," Furia fumed.

"I never said you were. But I had my reasons."

"And so do I."

"This isn't you," Memo argued.

Furia shook her head and looked exasperated. "It is as much me as anything else I've done. I can drive. I can fight. I'm not horrible with a shotgun. And you know what, I don't have to listen to some sleazy little troll try to get me in a g-string every time I show up."

Memo smacked the hood of the La Fuerza with one of his big paws, making Miguel wince and ogle the car to see if he could ensure there was no damage, but he would not know for sure until he got back into the garage. The windows were just too greasy.

"¡Chingado! You can still back out of this."

"No, I can't," Furia replied matter-of-factly, leaning against the door of the sky blue Cosmos.

"I'll talk to Troy, see if we can talk to Julius."

"After tonight, I don't think that conversation is going to work, hermanito."

Memo had to know that even if she had not gone out with the boss and his second, it was a long shot, but after she explained what had happened earlier even Miguel knew Julius well enough to know Furia was in and there was only one way out. He understood both sides and found himself somewhere in the middle. He agreed with Memo-Miguel did not really want Furia in this life either. But he knew how hard she worked just to try and eek by. Furia made decent money, and if nearly every cent did not go to taking care of her brothers and sister she would not be living in their grandparent's old house at the leisure of their aunts and uncles.

"You think I don't know where you are coming from? How do you think I've felt the last few months? You skulking around trying to be all sly about the little hints of purple creeping into your wardrobe. Come on, Memito. You know me." Furia held her brother's face in her hands and looked up into his face.

"Yeah, I do, which is why I don't want to see this. I don't want to lose my sister. Because to be flat out honest. I couldn't do it."

"Do what?"

"Sundays, the games, all the rest of it you don't tell any of us about. I would have helped. But I couldn't do it," Memo said casting a cool glance in Miguel's direction.

"You don't have to. I'm not an idiot. I don't do things stupid."

When Memo tried to look away, Furia pulled him into a hug. Miguel was almost a little jealous. He and his brothers were not this close. Half the time they barely spoke, and not a damn one of them was concerned about him stripping cars or any of the rest of the shit he had ever pulled.

"Look, just promise me one thing," Memo said with a sigh of acquiescence.

"Maybe," Furia replied, a sly little smirk painted her lips.

"If you find yourself in trouble, call me. Or call Troy. Just don't fucking call Johnny."

Furia laughed. "Why not?"

"Because that motherfucker is crazy as a shithouse rat and twice as dangerous," Miguel called from across the room. "Now if you two are done, could one of you bitches give me a ride home."

"Chúpame la verga [ii]," Memo retorted with a rude gesture.

Miguel just laughed. "I don't have time to go searching for the Holy Grail, carnal. Let's go!"

* * *

i Tati - A nickname that tends to be given to older sisters by their younger siblings.

ii Chúpame la verga. - Suck my dick.


	4. Complications

**Summary:** Both Furia and Troy find themselves in increasingly complicated positions as outside forces seem to keep them in one another's range. Finally opening the door with Johnny Gat, Furia gets another offer that seems to showcase her skills.

**A/N:** As usual laying out offerings at Chyrstis' altar for her assistance. You are wicked fabulous!

* * *

**Solitude: Before I See**

**04 Complications**

**-1-**

* * *

Furia was determined. That was all that needed to be said. Anytime someone needed a second or third, she was the one who volunteered. When Julius called and said an old friend of his needed a hand getting some business done, she spent half an afternoon pistol-whipping pimps, chauffeuring hookers, and out driving anyone wearing blue, including a few overzealous cops. The boss' pal, Will, was so pleased he told her that Julius had nothing to worry about and to let head of the Saints know he would spread the word that purple was the new black.

The part that impressed Furia most was just how much he paid for her assistance, what struck her even more was Julius telling her it was her work, therefore her money. She walked out of his office with her hand conspicuously on her pocket, which held more money than she had made in the last month-and-a-half. It was surreal. _All in one afternoon_. She knew it would not be a regular thing, there was no way it could be. _That just can't be possible_. But she knew that things might just be looking a little more doable.

Part of her needed to just breathe for a moment, but that was short lived. When she walked out of the church she turned her face toward the clouds. She understood now, what her grandfather had told her. Sometimes things just need to get done, and when you have a good enough reason you will do just about anything to take care of your own. _It's nice when it pays off._

"You've been busy."

Furia turned quickly and tried to fight the warmth she felt rising in her cheeks when she noticed Troy leaning there against the wall of the church.

"Figured I would make myself useful," she said a little too meekly, or so she thought.

"I can see. How are you faring with that pistol?"

Furia bit the inside of her cheek. _Of course. _She had been hoping her poor marksmanship might go unnoticed, but then deep down she knew that was not really a viable possibility. _Kind of tough to be the only Saint who can't shoot straight_.

"That good, huh?" he said with a laugh as he flicked the butt of his cigarette into the grass. "Come on."

She followed him down the steps to his car. "Where are we going?" she asked, leaning on the roof of the sleek black Bootlegger.

Troy leaned his elbow on the roof on the driver's side, looking her right in the eye. It never failed, every time he did that she suddenly felt like she was tied to hundreds of balloons; this weirdly light feeling tugged at her shoulders and she just wanted him not to look away. She exhaled slowly when his eyes darted back to the church.

"Do you want to learn how to use that thing, or not?" Troy asked, studying her in that way that was a strange mix of unnerving and enticing, like being asked to stay after class by that way-too-hot teacher in high school.

When she shrugged, he smiled. "Get in!" He turned the radio down before he started the car. "You're making quite a name for yourself."

"Just trying to be useful."

He shook his head. "To hear Mikey D tell it-"

"No," she interrupted and he cocked an eyebrow at her. "That was being in the wrong place at the right time. No skill or anything to it."

His laugh was warm, making her smile in response. "Yeah. Don't tell Mikey. I think he already got your name tattooed on his ass."

"Do all guys react that way when someone gets them out of a jam?" Furia asked a little exasperated at the overreaction the absent Saint was still having. All she had done was cold cock some idiot who had pulled a gun on Mikey, while he was stupidly only carrying a knife. A little smile crept across her face at the memory of being able to quote that stupid movie line about bringing a knife to a gun fight.

"I don't know. If someone as hot as you saved my ass, I might just sign it over."

"Oh, really? There's a thought."

When she noticed his hand tighten on the steering wheel, she felt just like that kid in the teacher's office again. Flirting with someone that was clearly off limits and unavailable. Sinking back into the seat a little, she rested her forehead on her fist as she chastised herself. He was not the type of guy she usually went for anyway, and she figured her naïve attraction to him had more to do with the aftermath of her first afternoon than anything else. Or at least that was how she explained it to herself when her hormones reared their ugly little heads.

The silence stretched on and she resigned herself to overstepping to try and drown out her own stupidity. Thankfulness was the only response to being able to turn the radio up without some kind of additional awkwardness, but Furia had intentionally avoided even looking at him again. The quiet ride to the edge of Stilwater had her wishing for something to occupy her mind other than the realization that this little shooting lesson would make her seem even more inept, because of her inability to see the line with him.

When they arrived at tract of open land, she took careful note of the crescent-shaped berm that surrounded a quarter of the area. A short round man in red flannel and a hunting vest called out to them as Troy climbed out of the vehicle immediately. "Hey Troy! Good to see you."

Furia stepped out of the vehicle and drew a sharp whistle.

"Come on, Phil. She's one of ours," Troy said, shaking the other man's hand.

"Sorry, man. Didn't realize." There was a little note of a stammer in the man's voice, when he looked up at the woman he had just whistled at. "How's it going?"

Furia just shrugged both her shoulders and left her hands in her pockets. _Silence. Silence is good. It means you can't say anything else stupid._

"Cool," Phil replied to himself. "I got everything you asked for Troy and set up the targets. You should be able to control them all from the panel beside the table. That second key there opens it up."

"Thanks," Troy said and held his hand out palm up.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Four sets, just like the big dog asked for."

"Good job." The Saints' second looked from Phil to the truck atop the hill, that they had walked past, a few times before the man got the hint.

"Oh, sure. Have fun," Phil said, walking to his beat up Thorogood.

Furia could feel her nerves peaking. She was not sure she was prepared for an afternoon alone with Troy Bradshaw in any shape or form, let alone with him correcting her posture and her aim.

"Where's your piece?" he asked as he walked over to the table. He looked at it for a long moment then glanced at her over his shoulder. "You really don't know dick about guns, do you?"

Furia rolled her eyes. "No. Pretty much the first time I shot one was the afternoon I got canonized."

"Pretty much?" he asked as he started to take the pistol apart.

This Furia watched carefully. "Yeah, in junior high, the school got the bright idea to get the entire eighth grade their hunting licenses. If we passed the written test, we got to go on a field trip. They took us out to the edge of the suburbs, and the _at-risk inner city youth_," she said the phrase in a pretentious accent that sounded just the way she remembered her principal sounding, "got to skeet shoot a handful of rounds. Had a bruise on my shoulder for a week after the first shot."

Troy laughed. "They didn't warn you guys about the kick?"

"No. But I'm a pretty fast learner. Only took the kick back once."

"Did you hit anything?" His eyes met hers, but she looked away quickly.

"Nope."

"Well, at least that hasn't changed."

"Chingate guey," she replied with a sharp bite to her tone.

He slid the cartridge into her pistol and held it out to her. The look on his face told her he had no idea she had just told him to fuck himself.

"Show me different, then," he ordered, taking a step back.

It was even more uncomfortable for her knowing that he was watching her. She held the pistol in one hand and fired three shots. His hand was light on her shoulder, but it still made her nervous, mostly because she wanted it there.

"Use two hands. Grip with one and steady with the other." Troy demonstrated with his own .9mm. When she mimicked him he nodded. "Three more."

This went on for twenty minutes before he finally told her to take off her hoodie. At first he only made verbal suggestions, after her baggy shield was gone it became a lot more nerve wracking. Light touches and small corrections here and there, the feel of his palm between her shoulders, on her wrists-Furia knew it was all innocent but it was kind of hard for her to ignore the handsome man standing behind her as his hands adjusted her arms or her hips.

It was compounded by the fact that he smelled so damn good. Whatever the cologne was she selfishly started wishing he would run out, because the spicy warmth of it made her head spin. Because of everything else, she tried her damnedest not to look at him-she was certain her most rebellious thoughts would be completely obvious.

_Eyes forward. On the target_,she told herself over and over again anytime he touched her or stood near.

At one point when he was standing behind her, Troy's hand grazed her waist causing her hands to shake a little. What made it worse, was that he had noticed and asked, "You doing all right?"

"I'm fine. Just-" Breaking her own rule she turned and looked at him. _Goddamnit. Such a bad move._ She stared into his hazel eyes, just willing him to do something that would make her not feel like a ridiculous school girl.

Instead he stepped away clearing his throat. "Maybe we should call it."

Furia lowered her weapon and flipped the safety on, sliding it back into the holster she kept on her waist. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. I need to take care of something this afternoon anyway."

"What's that?" Bradshaw was packing the extra ammo into a small case.

"Have to finish something for some friends."

"If you need a hand"-he looked at her again, with a question seeming to take over his expression-"I could have one of my guys give you a hand."

She shook her head and declined, "Nah. I don't think any of your enforcers would be able to help me close out the Nguyen's books anyhow."

"How do you mean?"

As they walked back to the car, she explained her extensive skill set which had been inspired by Stilwater's unstable economy and her lack of education beyond high school. "I got halfway through my Associate's in Accounting, before Gabriel got pneumonia."

"Who's Gabriel?" Troy asked, stowing the box in the trunk.

"My baby brother. He spent four months in the hospital." She shrugged one shoulder and braved a glance up at Troy, his face was grave, sympathetic. "He was on my uncle's insurance, but that only covered some things. I was interning for Mr. Nguyen and he didn't fire me when I dropped out. But it was only a few hours a week. So between working any place that was hiring and now this," she said, meaning joining the Saints. "I can safely say I've done just about everything."

"Yeah, sounds like."

The car ride back to the Row was just as quiet as the trip out. Though this time Furia felt a little less like an idiot only because she preoccupied herself with the work she had ahead of her on the small shop's financial records. To top it off she had to meet Lin after dark to talk about a transport that was supposed to be coming in, a transport that was going to be waylaid.

**-2-**

* * *

After dropping Furia off at the cleaners, Troy sat in his car up the street for a long time, too long he knew. The more he learned about her the stranger it all seemed. He knew Memo mentioned brothers and sisters, but he did not realize the implications of the kid's statements until Furia's little disclosure about leaving school.

_Distance_, he tried to remind himself. He weighed his options. Something in him needed to know if she was who she seemed to be or if all of this was just some elaborate game on her part. Digging his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, he retrieved the last one and crumpled it before dropping it on the seat.

_None of this should matter_. But somehow it still did. _What if she's lying? Maybe she has a rap sheet longer than Miguel's._ _What exactly did she mean when she said she had done just about everything?_ If she was putting on some kind of innocent façade, who cared? When he broke it all down, somehow, somewhere, some way he needed to know precisely the type of person he was dealing with here.

By the time he stopped driving with the force and became aware of his surroundings again, he was halfway to the suburbs and the phone booth not far off the beach. Troy tapped the steering wheel nervously as he made the now conscious choice to head for the spot that was little more than twenty minutes out now, thanks to his subconscious.

Despite lack of use, the number was still fresh in his mind as he dropped quarters in the payphone, and eyed his surroundings.

"Hey, Alan. Any news?"

"Troy! Goddamnit, how ya been?"

"I'm still wearing fucking purple, that's how I've been. Where do we stand?" Troy annunciated every word of his question clearly. The run around he had been getting from everyone, including his partner, had the undercover detective on edge.

"It is what it is, man. They say their still building up their cases. There's not enough evidence or information on the Vice Kings. I mean some of the stuff you've brought us on the Los Carnales is golden. But the intelligence on the Rollerz is thin, too. They want more."

"And everything on Julius and his crew?" Troy stuck his hand in his pocket looking for his pack before remembering it was empty and laying on the passenger seat. He took the lighter out instead and flipped it repeatedly as the breeze blew the flame out.

"The Saints are nothing man. Just upstarts. No one's worried about them. But we're building the files."

"How much longer?"

"Depends on what the Saints do next, I guess," Alan said.

Troy could hear it in his partner's voice. Bradshaw was stuck until he could deliver cases on the other gangs from inside this one. Three years earning a reputation, gaining Julius Little's attention then his respect, and finally his trust, and he still had nothing more to show for it than a purple fleur-de-lis tattooed to the inside of his bicep. Troy tucked the lighter away and leaned against the side of the phone booth, watching the darkening sky.

"Troy, you still there?" Markovson asked.

"Yeah. I'm still here."

"Why'd you call man?"

"I need information."

Alan laughed. "That's supposed to be your job man."

"Look. I need to know if someone's on the up and up."

"Informant?"

"Don't know. That's why I need a background," Bradshaw responded with a short tone.

"Give me a name."

The sound of typing in the background told Bradshaw his partner was going to run her right then and there. _Instant gratification, if you still want it? _

Troy rubbed at his forehead a moment, trying to decide. "I've only got an alias," Bradshaw said, stalling.

"If they're in the system, I should still be able to find them," Alan assured.

It was and was not exactly what Troy wanted to hear. "Furia."

"Wait. What? How do you spell that?"

"The way it sounds I guess."

The hunt and peck of keys resounded in Troy's head as Alan whispered her name slowly.

"Hmph."

"What is it?" Troy asked.

"Nothing."

"Check her against Guillermo and Miguel Guerrero," Troy added, his curiosity ramping up. _Maybe she's exactly who she says she is._ "Auto Theft might have something on her."

"I got nothing man."

"Did you check Miguel's associates?" the undercover officer repeated staring at the numbers on the keypad.

"Yeah. There's no Furia in system. Not even in association with the Guerrero guys." The long pause drew out. Troy keeping his thoughts to himself as his partner waited for more questions or an explanation. "Who is she?"

"Nobody." _Yet._

"Is everything okay, man?" Alan asked with a heavy note of concern.

"Yeah I'm good."

"This girl. Is she someone I should be looking for?"

"Probably not," Troy lied, though not really certain why. "I just wanted to make sure she was on the up-and-up."

Neither said anything and Troy hoped he was more convincing than he felt. He did not want the cops looking at her, especially not because he had been overzealous. "Listen, if you need something . Let me know."

"I know, Markovson. I'll keep you apprized, and the next drop will be on schedule."

Bradshaw hung up the phone and leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the weather shielding that kept the payphone safe from the rain. "What the fuck are you thinking, Troy? Seriously. You've got to be out of your fucking skull."

**-3-**

* * *

Furia jogged up the steps of the church and ushered the younger girl ahead of her as she checked the street once more. Without a word she led Zia to the back corner of the church into the little space that Johnny claimed as his office of sorts. It was almost touching, the way _the_ Johnny Gat was trying to comfort his distraught girlfriend. Furia was nearly certain it was not something a lot of people saw from the man everyone in the gang was scared to death of, even her brother Memo.

Zia dashed across the room skimming Furia and ignoring Johnny as she ran straight into Aisha's arms. She watched Zia hug her older sister tightly, as Aisha ran her hands over the girl looking for injuries, while also trying not to let her go. Furia could empathize; she would respond the same way if something like that had happened to Socorro.

"Hey. Thanks," Johnny said quietly, taking her hand and pulling her toward him.

"No hay pedo," she said. When one eye narrowed, she grinned. "No problem. Glad I could help. I have a little sister, so I get it."

"You're all right." Johnny glanced over at the two women bawling in the corner. "Listen, I need to handle this. Call me when you got some time. I might have something for you."

"Sure thing. You need a hand?" Furia offered.

"Nah. I got this," he said with a nod.

Furia copied the action and turned to leave.

"Thank you," Aisha called across the room. "I mean it."

"You're welcome."

Walking out of the room, Furia pulled out her phone to check the time. This little excursion was not part of today's plan. "Shit," she muttered, quickly drafting a text telling Lin she would be late but with for good reason. "Hey Peaches, can I borrow your car?" she asked a wispy strawberry-blonde as she walked through the nave of the church.

Furia slowed but did not stop as she walked toward the door, she turned and walked backwards slowly as she waited for a response. "Come on. You know I'll treat her right."

"Scratch her and we're gonna scrap."

"You got it," the taller Latina noted. "You still driving that grape SUV."

"Of course. Just look for the succulent peach and you'll find my baby."

Furia laughed. She knew precisely what the woman was talking about and the globes hanging from the rear view mirror of the Quasar really did not look like peaches, though they were fuzzy and flesh-colored. The engine was a rebuild, or so Peaches claimed, and it rumbled nicely, Furia had to admit, but it did not make up for the way the SUV wobbled on a turn, or the fact that it was an automatic. That was the thing the driver disliked most-automatic transmissions. Maybe it was simply because she learned on a standard, maybe there was something about shifting through gears on your own that helped her think, or maybe it just made Furia feel more connected to the car, but she had a stark preference for standards.

As she pulled into the parking lot near Samson's shop, the young woman knew she would need to get her hands on her own sled soon. Borrowing people's rides was getting old for her as well as the people she was bumming rides and vehicles off of temporarily. She stuffed the key chain with the little fuzzy peach on it into her pocket, thinking that the owner of the vehicle really might just be taking her nickname a touch too far.

Furia was not even through the door of the mechanic's bay when the voice echoed off the concrete and metal. "So what's the really good reason?" Lin said quietly in a low pitch that belied her irritation at having been kept waiting.

"The Vice Kings are kidnapping girls off the street."

"What?!" the other woman snapped, her feet hitting the floor as she leaned forward.

"Yeah, looks like since Tanya's losing product she's decided to start taking it right off the street."

"That doesn't sound like King's style."

"Johnny and Dex are pretty sure he doesn't know. They think Tanya came up with this all on her own and that she's somehow keeping it under wraps."

"What's this got to do with you?" Lin asked, leaning back again and crossing her arms over her chest.

Furia shrugged. "I was in the wrong place at the right time. When Aisha's sister got snatched, Johnny needed someone who could tail them."

"I bet he did." Lin looked at Furia knowingly. She nodded then stood and crossed to the covered car. Tugging upwards at the scrub green fabric, the Saints' lieutenant said, "Give me a hand."

The two quickly uncovered the sleek little Zircon. Furia circled the car, admiring the customization she could see first, as Lin moved to pop the hood and show her the rest.

"¡Hijole! That's one hell of an engine."

"Yes, it is," Lin said appreciatively, eying it like some women might a half-naked man. "Stripped down, rebuilt, and bored. She's got nearly 300 horsepower and she sings so pretty. She's almost as beautiful as my car, though not quite."

"So, what are we doing with this lovely and why is she dressed up so nice?" Furia trailed her fingers lightly over the silhouette of the car, circling it again, this time with a careful eye and a gentle touch.

Lin smirked when the bay door opened and Samson walked out into the front of the shop. "Well it seems the Westside boys are just itching to try out those cars we touched up for them. They are planning to pop their cherries tomorrow night."

Furia pressed her palms the passenger door glass and eyed the interior. _Lin went all out_. This car was built to race and if Furia had to guess it was barely street legal if it was at all. When she looked over at Lin, noticing the glint in the other woman's eyes, Furia started to doubt it. "And me and this rice are going to take them down a peg?"

One corner of Lin's mouth tugged up as she stared at the engine, her hands rubbing along the edge of the hood. "Oh yeah! From what Miguel and Julius tell me you're a natural. Hell, your cousin says you can drive the wheels off anything with an engine."

Furia shook her head once and looked Lin in the eye. "I don't know. I've never done any racing except against Miguel when his dad wasn't around. That was on dirt and never with nothing like this. I can dodge some berries and make a run for it, but a flat out drag race? Never tried that."

Lin dropped the hood slowly, and latched it. "The car has all the power you need to beat these clowns. I just need someone behind the wheel who can feel her and will let her run."

"That I can do."

"That's the rumor. Just a heads up. This is not a drag race; there are some sweet straight-aways on the course they have planned, but these guys are some of their top drivers; they are looking for a challenge. They want bragging rights. Here, this is the general route." The shorter woman in blue laid the map out on the hood and stabbed at the colorful grid a few times. "I had to fucking volunteer to drive around their goddamn markers for this. So, you better appreciate it."

"Believe me, I'll owe you a whole bottle of the good stuff," Furia said, an absence in her voice as she leaned over the map and followed the track traced out in pencil. "Damn! They really are trailing this thing all over hell's half acre, aren't they?"

"Like I said. Separate the men from the boys, is their slogan for this stupid thing. I'm figuring that you can show 'em what for."

"Can I keep this?"

"It's yours, just don't bring it with. And as much as you want to, don't drive the route. They have guys watching it," Lin leaned back against the hood.

Furia winced, that had been her plan. She did not know the suburbs as well as she could. Usually when she boosted from this part of town she would just drag whatever heat she caught to the Southside and lose them there on more familiar ground.

The tall Latina ran her hand over the hood as she walked back toward the driver's door. She opted to take the chance and get acquainted with the lady. "Standard roll cage or is the frame reinforced?"

Lin eyed her suspiciously. "Reinforced, why?"

"Just curious."

"Do _not_ roll this work of art."

Furia laughed as she slid into the driver's seat. "I'd never do anything like that. But I wanted to know if I might be able to piss them off a little."

The grimace on Lin's face made the Latina laugh. "You can, though I'd prefer it if you didn't do too much damage, if you can avoid it. Samson's got a buyer for her. Don't want to eat too deeply into the profit if we can avoid it. Plus they aren't locking down the route so you won't be on the road alone, trading paint with them might get you into more trouble than it's worth."

A quick nod was all the response the woman in the driver's seat gave. She nestled back into the seat and stretched out her legs, testing the clutch once before sliding the seat up about an inch. Eyes moving over the panel and the console, she did not touch anything, yet. It was like foreplay, build up the temptation.

Furia ran her hands over the steering wheel in an intimate fashion. Her eyes closed as she clutched the knob gently. Part of her knew there was no chance at a test drive, but she could still cop a feel for the movement of the shift linkage and was fairly certain where the sweet spot on the clutch was after a few quick calculated movements.

"I'm gonna make you scream my name," Furia muttered as both hands returned to the wheel.

"That's what I was hoping for," Lin added, leaning on the open door.

The Latina felt the blush burn her cheeks, which made the blue-clad lieutenant laugh.

"You'll pick her up here tomorrow late afternoon. You're going here." Lin pulled a slip of paper out of her bra. "Be there by seven. And wear something … non-threatening, if you get my meaning."

"The lower cut the better?" Furia questioned with a grin as she climbed out of the car.

Lin's chuckle was more ominous. "Hell yes, want them thinking with their little head. And I'm pretty sure you can handle that."

"Cieramente.[i]"

"All right, well I'm outta here. I'll see you tomorrow night. But don't-"

Furia held up her hands. "I know the drill. I don't know you. You don't know me. I'm just there to race."

"Precisely."

* * *

[i] Cieramente - Certainly


	5. Games

**Summary: **Lin's trust and Julius' concern butt heads when the evening of the race approaches. Furia knows the game, she knows how to handle racers, having known several of them. The sense of pride that went with being given the assignment fell by the wayside when she arrived to find, that all Julius really trusted her with was the driving.

**A/N: **Since I have yet to determine a way to simply permanently thank Chy for her assistance and willingness to read _everything_, I will simply resort to adding her name in every post.

* * *

**Before I See**

**05 Games**

**-1-**

* * *

The humidity felt like it was dissipating, but Troy merely attributed that to the setting sun. He was on his third cigarette by the time the white convertible pulled up. Furia got out of the passenger side but immediately leaned back into the car as the top started to peel back. Straightening again, she pulled a clip out of her hair and tousled it a little, the soft waves framing her face. Bradshaw would have been fine if the revelations stopped there. He wondered how many oversized black hoodies she owned. When she peeled this one off, he knew precisely why she wore it in this instance and a part of him was wishing she would put it back on.

The white sheer lacy top did not even attempt to camouflage the vibrant red of her brassiere. She waved a couple of fingers at the driver of the car when she crossed around the front of the breezer. Troy was instantly aware that he was not the only person transfixed by the low-cut, skin-hugging denim shorts that could only generously be called daisy dukes. And the stilettos just accentuated the length of her legs.

"Damn, girl. You know those Roller fuckers are going to trip over their tongues," Marco called, leaning on the car door watching the sway of her hips.

"You mean like you?" she chided with a quick glance over her shoulder.

Troy flicked another finished cigarette into the parking lot as his jaw tightened. When he realized he was gritting his teeth, he shook his head, chastising himself and ducking into the garage. As her eyes met his, her pace slowed and the playful smile seemed to falter.

"What's up?" she asked as she entered the bay.

"From what I know, you have a party to crash and a race to win."

"Si, but …"

He could see the question in her furrowed brow, hell, he had already asked it twice. "Julius doesn't want you going in there alone. This isn't Dex's sort of thing, and the Rollerz know Johnny on sight."

"Fuck, everybody knows Johnny."

"So, the job falls to me," Troy said.

Furia looked up at him and there was a trace of fire in her eyes and a sharpness to her tone. "Fine. Give me five minutes."

The ring of his phone was almost a welcome relief from the sudden chill, but even as he spoke to Julius about the boss' expectations, Troy could not help but watch her closely. Her fingers trailed lightly over the car as she moved slowly around it. When she leaned close, he would have sworn she was talking to it, while rubbing her while hands lovingly over the finish. When the idea flashed in his mind, he shut it down quickly. The last thing he needed to consider was her flirting with a car-another car, he corrected remembering her considerable interest in the Bootlegger currently parked behind Samson's shop. Though there was a part of him that was suddenly intensely jealous of that shiny red Zircon.

He finally had to turn his back on the scene. The look on her face was seductive, the movements of her hands tender and careful, and the bare sultry curve of those red lips saturated and addled his brain. Troy suddenly found himself actually praying for the strength to get through the next few hours then he could find a cold shower and enough whisky to muddle it all.

When the engine revved, he looked back, realizing too late the mistake. _Goddamnit_. She pressed the gas again and the vehicle rumbled deeply. Her head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, lips parted. If he were to imagine her in his bed, he would be hard pressed to have imagined that type of reaction. He swallowed at the lump in his throat and took a deep, slow breath as he flicked his cigarette away.

_This might have been a mistake_, he thought, after watching her with the vehicle. He could have sent someone else. _Fuck_, he could have sent Marco, or Paulie, even Mikey D. Bradshaw still was not entirely sure why he had not pawned off this job to someone else.

The window lowered as she pulled up to Troy. "You want some candy, mijo," Furia said with a playful grin that was a trying mix of seductive and sweet. When he slid into the passenger seat, she eyed him quickly and said, "I never would have figured you for a hipster."

"Fuck you," he said with an uneasy laugh tugging at the collar of the black brushed cotton shirt he was wearing.

"In your dreams," she replied sharply.

The sudden bite in her voice caught him off guard and he looked at her for a moment as her hands squeezed at the steering wheel, as she chewed on her bottom lip. When Furia glanced over at him, it took her a moment to find her voice. "You know, Marco's probably still in the neighborhood. I could call him and then you wouldn't have to put yourself out."

"What are you talking about?"

"I get it Julius has his reasons to send someone with me, whatever. Marco would at least be able to pretend it wasn't a chore."

Troy shook his head. "The boss wants someone he trusts. And I could have sent any of half a dozen guys on this gig. But there is one way you and I are alike. When someone asks me to do something, _I_ do it myself."

"You do realize, you're going to have to pretend to be into all this shit," she replied, quickly looking away with her own accidental implications.

Pursing his lips, he pressed his palm along the top of his thigh as he eyed the darkening horizon. "Believe me, you'd be surprised how well I can act." _You and everybody else_, he thought for a moment as the engine idled.

"¡Dios! Whatever you say, jefe."

Before he could respond she had slipped the little street racer into gear and anything he might have said would have been drowned out by the engine. He did not know what had soured her mood. Hell, as much as she loved to drive, he would have imagined this was something she would enjoy. Then he remembered the look on her face earlier, and realized the reason for the venom was him.

**-2-**

* * *

Hoops galore. That was what she had already jumped through, and if there were two things Furia could handle it was this car and any Westside idiot that decided to overstep. In this type of environment, breaking some handsy guy's wrist would not be frowned on as it had been at the club.

_I don't need a goddamn chaperone_, she thought as she slipped out of the vehicle. Her entrance had been calculated to draw attention, and it was successful. Most of the people in attendance were ogling the red Zircon that pulled into the line and rumbled vibrantly a few times before it finally shut off. She slid the key in her pocket as the whispers started.

The confident smiles and laughter reached her ears about the time a warm hand rested on the small of her back. It caught her unawares. Her eyes met his quickly. After the comment about being the last one on the list, she expected that everyone at the gathering would suspect he was there only to watch her back. Even after his little comment about his acting skill, she figured they would be pegged for what they were. But looking up at him in that brief moment, even Furia was not entirely certain what they were.

"Hey, man! You must have some brass balls!"

Troy's hazel eyes moved from hers to thin guy in blue. "Sorry fella, you're not my type," Troy replied, pulling Furia a little closer, his hand snaking around her waist.

She felt her chest tighten when he hooked his thumb in the waistband of her shorts, letting his hand dip into her front pocket. _Okay, the man can act_. She found her mind repeating a mantra in an effort to remind herself this was all for show.

"Not many drivers would let their bitch drive their sled, even if it was just up the road," a clean-shaven guy in shades stated. He was leaning against the European sports car next to where Furia had pulled in and his chin was resting on the shoulder of a glassy-eyed blonde who was wearing less than the Saints' driver.

"You're right. I wouldn't," Furia stated coolly.

The chorus of ooh's and ahh's was punctuated by claps and shocked laughter.

"You expect me to believe that's your rice."

For her own sanity, she wrapped her hand around Troy's and dug it out of her pocket, opting to hold onto it rather than allow it to remain perched on the front of her hip. She leaned back slightly, curving her long frame just so. "Believe what you want. But I'd be happy to prove it."

The crowd got vocal again at the challenge. But the big man just shook his head.

"Unless of course you're afraid you'll lose your papers to a girl," she chided with the cocky lift of one eyebrow.

-**3-**

* * *

Troy felt her body tense when he tucked his nose in her hair. "You might want to ease back," he whispered into her ear.

The thickly muscled man stood, pushed his girlfriend, or whatever she was, out of the way then moved toward Furia. Bradshaw straightened, and let go of her hand, just in case. The man never even glanced in the undercover cop's direction; his attention was wholly fixed on Furia, which did not ease Troy's tension or concern. His preference would have been to avoid a scene, and the fight that seemed imminent.

"You might just get your shot. We've got a little something planned tonight. You put up your car and we'll show you what racing really is, princess."

Furia took a step forward, challenging the man who was about equal in height with her due to the stilettos. "You can try. But I think you'll find I'm a little stubborn. And if you're willing to post the pink for that bucket, I'll deign to give you a shot. As long as you promise not to cry when I take your slip."

_Sonuvabitch. That is not easing back_. The guy inched up on her, and Troy noticed a few jumpy folks in the crowd. There were at least five guys he could see clearly that had their hands in their jackets or under their shirts, and knew there were likely more itchy trigger fingers in the crowd moving toward firearms. His experience, both as a cop and with the Saints, told him this could get ugly fast. He also know that in that place, at that time, there was next nothing he could do to contain it.

Troy tensed up when the Roller flipped Furia's hair over her shoulders. Bradshaw had to hand it to her, though; she did not flinch, not even when the guy trailed his finger down her neck. Troy's blood was boiling and he had to keep reminding himself why they were standing there. Furia grabbed the Roller's hand and twisted it slightly when it reached her collar bone.

"You've got to prove you've you can drive, before you ride this ride, cabrón," she said in a husky purr that was intensified by the way she rolled her Rs.

"Now, _that_ is a reason to race," the man growled deeply.

Troy did not like the game Furia was playing. But thankfully the little showdown was broken up by some kid in a mechanic's suit.

When she leaned against the side of the Zircon, Troy stood over her, closer than he normally would have, but he did not want to chance anyone else stepping into their conversation. He pressed his palms against the hood on either side of her, setting his lips near her ear. "What the hell was that?"

Her hand rested on the back of his neck, as she mimicked his proximity to her. Her cheek against his, her fingers warm against his skin, then her breath tickling his ear, it combined to entice him even more than the reaction she had to the car. "Racers are like boosters. They like to talk shit. And if you back down, you lose all credibility." She leaned back and looked up at him; Troy was intensely aware of her hand on his cheek. "It's like so many things in life, you have to pay to play. Trust me. I know guys like this, and I know what I'm doing."

Slipping out of the little protective bubble he had her in, Furia walked away from the car. But she was swift enough on the uptake to realize that staying in his sight line was a necessity. He watched her approach a group of females who were all smiling widely and looking at the long-legged Latina with a mix of shock and admiration. It was a sentiment he could appreciate. Furia was startling in every sense of the word-dangerously so.

**-4-**

* * *

The little confrontation may have left her marked as other, but at least she was not an outcast. They saw her as a racer, though she knew none of them saw her as an actual adversary, even if she had squared off with one of their boys and not backed down. To them she was little more than an easy mark and the confrontation was merely her ticket to the line. The smirk the big guy had given her told her all she needed to know; they bought it and saw her as nothing more than some sweet piece with a car to lose.

Troy still looked uneasy when she returned to the Zircon. Furia guessed his nervousness was due to the fact that this was not his scene. Spending time in Miguel's garage she had known a fair number of both racers and boosters. For the most part they had similar mentalities-giant egos and confidence for days. Furia did not subscribe to the their typical brand of bravado. She had always been an actions-speak-louder-than-words kind of girl, but she knew the value of playing the game.

Most of the drivers were perched on or around their vehicles, protectively watching over their interests. Her eyes skimmed the line. The five cars she had intercepted a few days earlier were all parked together and a crowd gathered around them. The smirk on her lips was instinctual. _Yeah! Enjoy 'em, while you got 'em, boys._

Troy's interest had been drawn to the group as well, and when she touched the cold bottle to his forearm his eyes snapped to hers. Holding the bottle up, she smiled at her tense-looking companion before he snatched her peace offering. He took a long pull on the beer as she slid onto the hood of the car beside him.

"For God's sake, relax," she said quietly, leaning toward his shoulder as she spoke.

Bradshaw draped his arm over her legs, touching her but not at the same time. She knew it for what it was-an expected show of possession. They both had their own game plans for this evening; this was part of his. She had to be the scantily-clad racer girl, and he had to convince these fools she was more than just some girl. Looking around she could see it. His game was a good as hers; in this crowd, they all thought she was his. Of course, she knew that, by extension of that assumption, they saw the rice as his. It was also possible they might blame their loss on him too, but she knew that would not come into play. Once the race was done, the two Saints would be headed back to the Southside. _No one's collecting pink slips tonight._

"It is a little hard to relax when in the first five minutes you piss off their whole crew."

"They aren't pissed," she argued with a little laugh, reaching across him and stealing the beer she had brought him. After taking a sip, she laid it against the front of his shoulder and he took it back. "They think I'm a big mouthed whore, and, more importantly, they think they are going to gank my whip. Though the big guy might believe he has a chance at something more."

"Well, he should rethink that," Troy muttered.

Furia was taken aback by the note of protectiveness in his tone. Unsure precisely how to read the statement and the implication, she chalked it up to that acting ability he hinted at earlier. Though she did have to wonder if it was part of the games they were playing. Her eyes skimmed the activity around them, trying to distract herself from the fact that there was a very real part of her that did not want the undertone to be part of the act.

"What time is it?" she asked quietly, when she noticed a pair of girls in blue jackets run down the line toward the five cars the Saints had modified.

The sensation of him leaning over her like he had been was not something she expected to miss until he straightened and dug around in his pockets for his phone. When he showed it to her, she tried to keep her mind on what she was supposed to be doing and off of him, which was made all the more difficult by his cologne. She just hoped she could block it out by the time the race started.

"Almost time," he said, still holding the device toward her.

"Thank God. These heels are killing me," she noted with a relaxed smile, which he returned too easily for her own good.

Troy laughed lightly. "I was wondering how you were going to drive in those."

"I'm not." When a young kid in blue nodded at her, Furia slid off the hood and walked around the car. "You ready for the ride of your life?" she asked as she opened the driver's door.

When he slid into the passenger seat, she caught him by surprise. Troy pressed back against the seat as if he had been bitten as her hand slipped between his knees, dropping her stilettos on the floorboard. "Can't have them knocking around near the pedals," she explained as Troy shifted.

"Buckle up." Her tone was light as she pulled on her unlined leather gloves. They were thin and well worn, offering her the grip she would need to maintain control of the wheel the entire time. Street racing was not something she knew all that well, and sweaty hands would not be helpful.

The other vehicles came up to the line and the little kid in the blue football jersey walked her to her spot, then tapped on the hood to tell her to stop. With a glance at Troy she noticed he was holding two points of the harness oddly. She giggled softly and helped him out. "So, I take it racing isn't in your wheelhouse either?"

Looking at her with wide eyes, his hand slipped into his pocket.

"No dice, Troy. Can't have the windows down." She refastened her own harness then looked down at the center console. Patting his thigh lightly, Furia said, "Straighten your leg, and if you have to grab something just keep it on that side of the car."

"What?"

"This will be a little faster than that police chase, and there's a slimmer margin for error, so I need room to work."

Two girls were arguing near the front of the group, until the big guy from earlier intervened. "All right gorgeous," Furia murmured, her palms moving over the wheel. "We can do this. Smooth as silk, chiquita." Despite her heart pounding in her chest, the driver tried to slow her breathing down. "Think slow, Furia. It's yours."

**-5-**

* * *

Troy was just watching her caressing the wheel and as the car lurched forward it caught him unawares. He grabbed the arm rest in the center and braced his other hand against the roof. When her elbow hit his forearm, he understood why she had told him to keep his hands on his side of the vehicle. Her glare was momentary, just enough to tell him she did not appreciate his presence in her space. He opted instead to grab one of the harness points, which he was suddenly and powerfully glad for as she wove between cars, tossing him left and right against the restraints.

"You'd think they'd find a track for this shit or something," he said more loudly than he intended as one of the cars in front of them nicked a station wagon.

"Not as much of a challenge," she replied dryly. By her tone it was clear to him that she was not actually participating in the conversation, merely responding from some less than conscious place in her brain. Her eyes made a quick circuit-mirror, road, side mirror, road, driver's side mirror, road. Each stop on the road was markedly longer than the time spent on the mirrors.

"Whoa!"

Furia dodged not only the blue Zomkah that had aimed for their red Zircon, but also a little white convertible brimming with young blondes.

"These fuckers are crazy."

"No, they are male. Having a female put them in their place is a little damaging to the ego," she noted as she made a sharp left onto the wide avenue that ran under the L. She shook her head once, the little grimace telling Troy she was not pleased with the maneuver.

"Come on, you bastard. Come and get me." Her eyes went to the rear view mirror again, staying there longer than usual. When the dark grin curved her features, Troy turned in time to see the car behind them surge forward then it seemed to lose control and veered into the park before it exploded.

"Holy shit! Damn, Lin doesn't fuck around."

Furia chuckled. "You catch hell long enough and when you get the chance for payback, you go big or go home."

**-6-**

* * *

Downshifting, she slid into another turn; accelerating down the wide sidewalk, she dodged the thin tree in the center. Most of the area was clear because the race leaders had already scared the hell out of the pedestrians there. As she clipped the turn, it put her in the position to slip past another Zomkah. _Lin was dead on. This car has the power to make the Rollerz cry in their transmission fluid_.

At the intersection, she saw two blue machines slip into the oncoming lane to make the right, but Furia took another option. Steering up the driveway of a little convenience store, she turned onto the sidewalk then cut through the empty grassy lot, while two other drivers got stuck behind her at the intersection she had avoided.

Shifting smoothly into fifth as the group climbed onto the freeway, she was glad Troy was a quick learner. Though the knuckles of his hand wrapped around the harness strap were white, he kept himself on his side of the car after the early slip. Knowing this was one of the straights that Lin had told her to expect, Furia decided to open her up.

"All right, baby, let's see what you have for me." When she glanced to her right to check the mirror, she caught sight of the look on Troy's face. "I've heard closing your eyes can help, but not always," she offered. She tapped the button on the console and took a deep breath before punching the button near the wheel.

Nitrous was not as uncommon to her as street racing, but it was something she still only had limited history with. When she saw the two cars start to pull away from her, she knew she needed to close the gap and this was going to be one of the few places she would have the chance, at least according to the map she spent the previous night studying. Furia kept her hands tightly on the wheel as the speedometer needle surged into the triple digits.

The explosions in the distance suggested she was not the only driver with that plan. The other Zircon in the race and a surprising little Voxel were still in this. Once the trio of cars hit the aqueduct she was on their heels, and the driver of the white Voxel was aware she was there. He also seemed aware of the explosions, because he kept skimming her nose whenever Furia tried to creep up on him.

"Time to test that reinforcement," she muttered as she dropped back into third, making the engine whine a little. "I know, sweetie, I know."

The next time he swerved past her she surged forward and turned into him when he repeated the maneuver meant to hold her off. "Motherfucker," she said calmly, waving at him and offering a condescending little smile as she sped through his spin.

"Think you can toy with me?" She glanced in the mirror, he recovered faster than she expected. "Hell, he's pretty good."

The moment he hit the button it was almost like she could see the explosion already, though she knew it was her imagination. As he closed on her, she found it hard to even worry about him. That car was out, even if the driver did not know it yet, and her sights were on the blue Zircon with the white and gold scrolling.

"Now it's just you and me."

**-7-**

* * *

Bradshaw just held on. He knew nothing she had to say was directed at him. If she was not talking to the car, she was talking to the other drivers, taunting them in ways they could not be aware of, but doing it all the same. The blue car made a turn ahead of them, bouncing his rear bumper off a bus.

"Fuck!" she yelled spinning the red rice to a near stop.

Slipping it into second she ran through the gears quickly as she gave chase. The thin street and the traffic drove both vehicles onto the sidewalk.

"Get back here you slippery bastard," she growled. Her laughter was sinister when she finally caught him and tapped his bumper. "That's right. I'm still here, princess."

When she dashed back onto the street, barely missing the minivan she cut off in the incoming lane, Troy gasped again. There was no traffic in her lane for several blocks and she took advantage of the clear road. Hazarding a glance at the Rollerz' driver, Troy saw him slam a hand on the steering wheel before the car slipped into a blind spot.

The blast was louder than expected and when the undercover cop moved to see why, he noticed that the blue Zircon was not the only vehicle that had been caught in the explosion. Up to that point, it had seemed that every car they took out was a solo casualty. Letting the race go long enough to get into Chinatown had been a mistake he realized as the black smoke billowed between the buildings.

He pressed his head back into the seat and watched her slam a palm against the steering wheel. A glance at her face revealed she was as unnerved by that turn of events as he was.

"Fucking idiot," she grumbled lowly. "You didn't have the clearance, why did you even try it?"

"What happened?"

"He hit the button, but if he hadn't been stupid he would have been able to dash up the sidewalk and just blown up himself, hopefully. But he had to try and get back on the road. Hit a goddamn truck and took out the entire intersection." She hit the steering wheel again as she slowed the Zircon to a less attention-getting speed. "That was not how this was supposed to play out!"

"No shit!" When she glanced over at him, he added, "No way to know precisely how something like this would go down. Too many variables. You couldn't know he was _that _stupid."

_Of course that still doesn't change the fact that four cars went up with that Zircon. _He peeked in the side mirror again, but the only thing he could still see were hints of the orange blaze and the oily rolling smoke. Troy was almost certain this was going to warrant a phone call. When Furia turned on the radio, he dug into his pocket desperately in need of what he had been denied for the entirety of that nerve shredding ride.

**-8-**

* * *

When the garage door lowered, Lin slipped into the bay to survey the state of the car. She could not help but wince at the dent in the quarter panel and the thick scrapes to the front end. One good thing-Furia had not fucked up the engine during the little display. That had sounded fine when they pulled in.

"I asked you not to destroy her," Lin griped.

"Yeah, well, the guy in the Voxel was a bit of a blocker."

"Oh, Smitty, huh? Glad to know he is a stain on the pavement finally. Though I wish he was around so I could kick his ass for doing this to her. Goddamn touchy feely cocksucker," Lin mumbled as she raised the hood. "How'd she drive?"

"She glides. Absolutely gorgeous."

Lin looked over at Troy. "Did you enjoy the ride?"

He glared at her as he exhaled a steady stream of smoke. "Let's just say it was an experience."

"Yeah, I bet," Lin replied with a smirk. When Furia ducked back in the car, Lin crossed to Troy. "Watch yourself. Julius has plans for that one."

"I've noticed."

"Yeah, well, just keep your distance. You wouldn't want anyone to misinterpret."

Troy leaned toward her when the driver emerged, heels in hand and walked across the cavernous space toward the back door. His eye met Lin's hard gaze. "That was-," Troy stated

"That was overstepping," Lin noted with a tilt of her head. "You of all people should know not to fuck with Julius' plans."

"It was for show, Lin."

"You just keep telling yourself that, Troy," the dark-eyed woman replied with a heavy note of disbelief.

Lin watched him cross to the door Furia had passed through. She shook her head. _Not smart, man. That one is not what you're expecting_. Lin liked the Latina-she could fight and she could fucking-well drive. And from what Lin had seen and heard up until tonight, Furia was not fooling around. The woman seemed intent on making her own bones, and not leeching off of anyone else. Lin smiled, checking over the rest of the car, it reminded her of the way she had come up-scraping for every inch she got.


	6. Preoccupation

**Summary: **Idle is not an accusation that could be cast at Furia. One advantage to being busy-she can more easily avoid those things that she is struggling against.

**A/N:** As usual hearty thanks to Chyrstis.

**Before I See**

**06 Preoccupation**

**-1-**

The electronic ringing broke the wonderful and rare silence. Furia tried to find her cell phone without actually opening her eyes, but so far all she had managed was to knock the clock and what sounded like the lamp to the floor. But she found it by the fifth ring and groaned as she answered the call.

"Hey, girl, you sound fabulous." The caller's tone was thick with sarcasm.

"This better be good, Peaches."

"Does fun count?"

Furia leaned up on her elbows and rubbed her forehead with one hand. "Maybe."

"I need to know if you might boost a car for me."

Squinting, the woman sat up and kicked off her sheets. "I'm listening."

"Not over the phone. I'll buy you breakfast. Meet me at Monroe's around the corner from the church."

"Give me like thirty minutes," Furia replied.

"Sure thing. See ya there."

Halfway through conditioning her hair she heard her phone ringing again in the other room. She decided not to even try, because as tired as she was Furia figured there was a higher chance of her breaking her neck in the attempt than her actually reaching the phone before it got to voicemail. Donning the usual-baggy jeans, lace-up boots, paired with a purple scoop neck tee and her typical black hoodie to camouflage the holster she now always carried.

When she checked her phone, her lips pursed. There was no voicemail, but there was a text: _3pm the abandoned lot outside of town. Bring that Vice._

She snapped the phone closed and plopped on the corner of the bed, resting her chin on her knuckles. _Damnit_. Furia had managed to steer clear of him for the last few days. After the combination of the race and the awkward drive home, she just needed a breather. Going from that easy way the two of them had invaded one another's personal space at that Rollerz event, to the isolationist response they opted for later just made it all the more confusing. Anyone who would have seen the two of them at the event and then in his car later that night would have been hard pressed to believe they were the same two people. That little Bootlegger felt huge for the amount of space they seemed to put between themselves on that relatively silent drive back to the Southside.

Though that reaction did serve to convince her that his assessment of his acting ability was dead on, which frustrated her more than she wanted to think about. Surprisingly, she found him to be a shockingly decent guy. That particular consideration was troubling in its own right. Furia found her head littered with questions and considerations she had not given any kind of credence to in more than a year, after she dropped Alonzo like a hot rock.

That was the one that pushed her to the decision that she just did not have time for the extra drama-from a guy or from her family in conjunction with the same. So even before she joined the Saints, her life just did not have room for an extra person. Her six siblings and various other relatives that ebbed and flowed in and out of the picture took up most of her time and energy after work. Then, with the crazed schedule she was running for the gang, which mostly consisted of running odd jobs until she was on the verge of passing out from sheer exhaustion, throwing another person into the mix did not seem viable-even more so with Troy Bradshaw.

The issue was not dating a lieutenant in the organization, per se. None of them were celibate from what she observed and overheard. Aisha was with Johnny, but then she was not really a Saint in the sense of being canonized. She was like some of the other women on the fringe. Dex had a new girl every week or so, but the same was true about them. It seemed that one could latch on to a lieutenant easily, if one was not a soldier.

And even if she was reading too much into it, there was no way Memo would take kindly to his sister seeing the guy in charge of his crew, or really any guy in purple, or at all. Her brother was a little on the overprotective side, truth be told they all were. Even Gabriel, who had been a skinny little twelve-year-old at the time tried to intimidate her last boyfriend. It had been hilarious, because when Alonzo had seemed unperturbed the twins-who were close in height and build to Memo had flanked Gabriel looking like the toughest back up anyone could need. Furia smiled at the thought. Her brothers-they were all so different, but in a heartbeat they were right there if they were needed, even though the last seven years they had mostly all lived apart.

_No! No time for this. _She sighed deeply and pushed herself back off the bed. Dating had usually been fairly easy for Furia, but her interest in Troy was anything but. Part of her hated that her head was all tied up in the potential politics of it all, but she had been trying to resolve herself to just trying to ignore the giddy nervous girl that seemed to spring up every time she heard his voice or caught a whiff of his cologne.

**-2-**

* * *

The cheesy fifties and sixties be-bop seemed to match the fading aqua and green interior of the diner. There was chrome along the edge of the counters and around the little barstool seats at the counter. The smell of bacon and ham were prevalent. About a dozen people sat separately and grouped in booths and at the counters-they were all regulars.

When two others, wearing purple, walked in the door, Peaches nodded-a courtesy, acknowledgement of shared allegiance. Then she looked back out the window watching the pedestrians as her vibrantly purple acrylic nails tapped out a rhythmic pattern on the linoleum tabletop. Her leg bounced nervously. Uncertainty taunted her. She could not even be sure Furia would do this, but, God, did she hope she would.

Peaches did not like owing people, which was something she and Furia had in common. Well, that and a love of good tequila. But this was not business, this was personal. The two of them never really talked about those sorts of things. Sure gossiping around the stained-glass was one thing, and everyone knew Furia was Memo's older sister and Miguel was their cousin. But that was really all the information anyone really had on the woman as far as Peaches knew, though there were rumors that Marco was chasing her, which he denied of course.

"Sweetie, if you're gonna sit here, you're gonna have to order something," the older waitress said, pulling Peaches out of her thoughts. The older brunette snapped her gum in the silence that spread between them.

"Can you get me two cups of coffee? My friend should be here any minute. I swear," Peaches replied, trying not to be rude. She had waited more than her fair share of tables, so she understood the drill and she knew that the cook was probably back there riding the woman about the silly girl in the booth not eating.

When the cups were filled a few minutes later, the prodigal friend arrived. "See. Told ya."

"All right, sweetie. Just order something soon, okay?"

"We will."

"Buenos dias, Marta. How are the boys?" Furia greeted.

_Does she know everyone on this side of town?_ Just about any time she went anywhere with Furia, the older woman knew someone, no matter where they went-strippers at this club, bartenders at this tavern, waiters, waitresses. Even a few dock workers they ran into at a bar that bought them drinks all night with no expectation of taking one or both of them home. It was a little crazy.

The waitress spun and grinned widely. "¡Dios Mio!" She took Furia's face in both her hands and kissed her cheeks. "They are good. Hector's on the honor roll."

"That's amazing."

"How are your brothers?"

"Busy. The twin are gearing up for football. Socorro's back in art classes. And Gabriel is taking an engineering seminar this fall after school. Max is flying out this weekend. He is so excited."

"Those boys are too smart for their own good," Marta noted.

"You're telling me." Furia looked over at her friend. "Do you know what you want? I'll have the usual," Furia said flatly.

"Uh yeah," Peaches added. "Just eggs scrambled with bacon and toast."

"Sure thing, ladies. And give my love to your family," Marta replied, pinching Furia's cheek.

"Hey Jay," Furia called, with a wave over her shoulder toward the kitchen, as she slid into the booth across from the younger strawberry-blonde. "So what's up?"

Peaches was still trying to catch up to how much information she had just inadvertently learned about Furia. But she set it aside and returned to the reason she had called her friend.

"I want you to steal my ex's car."

"Your ex. Wasn't he your boyfriend last night?" Furia asked, tearing open to packets of sugar for her coffee.

"Yeah, until he got a call at oh-dark-thirty and I found his ass in the parking lot with some whore's mouth on his cock."

Furia stopped pouring cream in her coffee and stared up at Peaches for a moment. "I could see that securely placing him in the ex category."

Peaches nodded vehemently. She could still see it-him leaned back on the hood and that skeletal twat just bobbing up and down, while slurping like a suckling pig. _Fucking bastard and his little slut collection_. She tried not to think too hard about the fact that she could count herself among that particular group. Peaches knew his reputation beforehand, but she figured Leo would never to that to her.

The moment she wondered if any of the others might have thought the same thing, she shook her head violently. _No, fuck them. Fuck him. And fuck his little cock on wheels._

"So, what kind of car are we talking?" Furia asked as she stirred her cup slowly, the spoon ringing off the ceramic.

"Big ass Compton, completely tricked out. It's his baby," Peaches revealed in a tone dripping with ire and a touch of jealousy. "I might not be able to cut off his pecker, but I can cube his car."

"Whoa! I don't have those kinds of connections."

"Don't worry about that. I already called in a favor from a friend. Her cousin works down at one of the car yards and you just have to bring it to the yard and he'll do the rest," the younger Saint explained.

Their plates arrived before Furia could say anything else, and she just stared at Peaches for a long time before agreeing.

"I'm only agreeing to do this because it's you. No one knows about this, right?" Furia stated, pointing the fork at Peaches.

The redhead could tell by the look in her eye that Furia was completely serious. If her friend wanted it unknown, then so be it; as long as it got done. "Not a soul."

"Good. And no one better find out."

**-3-**

* * *

After having Peaches drop her off a few blocks away, Furia strolled up the street and easily found the Compton. She leaned against a wall across the street, after having walked past it slowly, and realized she must be out of her head. There was no way she was going to get this car out of here. The street, while it was not packed, did have a steady stream of people. The top was up, so she would have to bar the door. The only saving grace to this entire fiasco was that it was an older model and she might not have to strip the wires, though somehow she doubted she was that lucky.

_Friends suck sometimes, especially the vengeful ones, _She thought as she unzipped the little bag she was carrying. Quickly threading the thin metal device up her sleeve, while in the relative protective anonymity of the alley, she took a deep breath and pulled a Barney-stop, look, and listen, before she walked across the street. The movements were familiar and quick. She had practiced and used them longer than she would admit to and on many different vehicles, so it was like second nature. The nice thing was that no one walking by seemed to notice how she got the door unlocked. _One point in my favor._

The alarm, however, was a different story. But she ignored it. This was not some Eiswolf or expensive European model what would lock out the starter. She would just be obvious until the engine kicked the damn blaring sound off.

"Come on girl," she coaxed as she tried the ignition. "Oh, you sexy thing." _Two points. Didn't even have to break out the wire cutters. _The engine roared to life, and as Furia put her hand on the gear knob she caught sight of someone in the rearview mirror. The guy was shirtless and his face vaguely familiar. _Fuck!_ She threw it in gear, rather than waiting for the alarm to die off.

"This is going to suck," Furia observed when she noticed the cruiser turn the corner. "¡Dios! I hope he didn't just make you look pretty," she told the car.

This was a target rich environment for the black and white, between the Compton driving off with the alarm still blaring and the half-naked bastard with a gun. The first shot cracked the back windshield of the car she had stolen, but Leo seemed to be as bad a shot as Furia. Truthfully, it did not really matter what drew the cop's attention first, because as soon as the lights came up, she took off.

One thing she was thankful for was the lack of a passenger. It was one thing to watch the reaction of someone who was a bad or fairly normal driver. But if you put two people who considered themselves talented drivers in the car that was an exercise in annoyance. Furia could almost not drive with Memo, as a driver or a passenger, because one or the other of them would sit there and make judgmental little tsks and sighs at the driver, which would undoubtedly lead to a confrontation after the ride.

The Compton did not have as much under the hood as she knew was possible. It sounded good, but she was fairly certain Leo had probably paid more to have it sound beefy than to actually make it so. That did not matter as much as the fact that the barge limited her options. So she had to resort to a lower speed game of who-knows-this-neighborhood-better with the cops. She ducked down wide alleys, up drives between houses that she knew went straight through. It took a little longer to lose them this way than she would have preferred, but eventually everyone makes mistakes, even more so when following someone who is seemingly driving like an idiot.

But that was one of the reasons she liked to drag people back to the Barrio, Sunnyvale, or the Row. She spent her whole life there and could lose anyone in the alleys, side streets, and shortcuts that only natives knew. One wrong turn on the wrong street and she was home free. And without fail she always managed to get the cops to miss the turn.

Furia's driving became much more cautious and less attention-getting as she turned toward the docks. She was more than familiar with the yard Peaches' connection worked at, and all she needed to do was get there without getting noticed by anymore of Stilwater's Finest.

"Dime,[i]" she said when the phone rang again.

"If I forgot to tell you, nice job the other night. The Rollerz were pissed. Not only about the cars, but because you were actually good. One of the guys was bitching that girls weren't supposed to know how to drive."

"Thanks . Things going okay? Or do you have something else for me?"

"I do have one thing for you. An address. There's a storage facility south of the dome. Westside keeps some of their high performance cars there, and a few other _valuables_."

"Ah, and you would like those cars not to be there."

Lin chuckled, there was an incredibly ominous characteristic to it. "Take it all apart. The cars, their crew. Then we can move some of our boys in there to keep it locked down. Expand out influence."

"Sure thing." She glanced at the phone, checking the time. It was possible she might be able to get it done before three, if she were lucky. Furia did not even consider an if-not. "I'll get it done today."

"Damn. Julius said you were on the ball, but shit. All right."

"Well, in about fifteen minutes I'll be done with a favor for a friend. And I don't have anything planned until this afternoon. So my morning is free."

Lin laughed brightly. "Then I look forward to listening to some boys in blue pitch a bitch this afternoon."

"I'll try to make it noteworthy, just for your entertainment," Furia noted.

"I must just like you," Lin replied. "Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"You know it." Furia ended the call and tucked the phone back into her pocket as she pulled into the yard.

She parked not far from the massive crusher that would turn the gaudy lime barge into a polygon of twisted metal. When she got out of the car, a young man walked out of the office located a few dozen yard away.

"That for Peaches?"

"Yep."

Furia did not stick around. She had done her part and wanted to get as far away from the hot vehicle as possible. Her phone was out again and she tapped the speed dial for the cab company. After relaying the location she promised an extra twenty, if the driver was there in five minutes or less. She hated waiting for anyone to pick her up, least of all cabs, but she still did not have her own ride yet.

It was a situation she needed to remedy, and she had enough money squirreled away that she could probably put her hands on something used outright. But she was specific and the amount of free time she would need to find a car she would want to own was much longer than she typically had. Though she also know her lack of time was due to her own choices. She could put off tearing up that storage facility, but that was precisely one of the reasons people started calling her for work-immediate response. Her reputation was solidifying-dedicated, capable, and timely.

**-4-**

* * *

When Bradshaw walked into the church's nave, he overheard that Furia, Mikey D, and Marco were having a little chat with fellas in blue in the suburbs. Checking his watch, he again allowed himself to wonder if she was avoiding him. The last three days she had been running almost non-stop and on each of those days she was the only Saint that had not spent any amount of time at the Third Street Church.

He chased the thought away, lighting a cigarette as he strolled into the graveyard. _It has to be coincidence_, he thought, convinced that only he was aware of his steadily growing interest in the hazel-eyed Latina. Though he would not have admitted it to anyone, hell, he barely let himself think it, Troy had actually been looking forward to their afternoon spent working on her aim. The last time had been fantastically problematic for him.

Furia freely laughed at herself. He could tell by the way she shook her head after some attempts that she was not pleased with how she fared, but she would always temper her irritation with a silly little comment or she would just laugh lightly and agree with whatever playful assessment he might offer.

The ring of his phone was a welcome distraction. "Yeah."

"Hey, Troy. It's Mikey."

Bradshaw checked the number and his chest tightened-he was on Furia's phone. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing much really."

The sound of an explosion in the background suggested otherwise.

"What the hell was that?" Troy asked a little too loudly. He drew the attention of a few other Saint's milling around the exterior of the church on the nice afternoon.

"Umm. I think one of the Rollerz must have had a grenade is all."

_That's all_.

"But that's not why I called."

_I fucking well hope not._

Mikey D coughed a few times. "Furia said to tell you she might be like fifteen minutes or so late. This is taking a little longer than she planned." There was a short pause. "Oh, fuck me."

"Mikey!"

"Yeah. Late, but she'll be there. Gotta go!"

Troy stared at the phone in shock. Mikey hung up on him. It only took a moment for Troy to suppress the astonishment. _Of course he hung up on you, they were in the middle of a firefight. You would have hung up too, though you would not have made the phone call in the first place,_ Bradshaw told himself. He knew precisely where they were, one of Johnny's boys had mentioned the storage facility, and Troy knew it was one of the Rollerz strongholds where they warehoused car parts and "recreational" supplies.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he considered, for a moment, taking a few guys over there to tip the odds in their favor then decided against it. As much as there was a part of him that wanted to jump into his car and tear ass to the suburbs, it was exactly what he needed not to do. When Julius told Troy to keep an eye on her, it did not mean interfering, even though the not knowing what she was doing or how it was going was made about twenty times worse by the phone call, which had been meant as a courtesy.

It took a great deal of concentration on the drive out to the modified shooting range to not detour to the storage facility. Troy managed to overrule his concern and only made one stop on the way out, though it put his arrival at the spot outside her projected timeline. When he turned up the dirt road, cresting the hill, he could not help but smile at the vehicle sitting there.

The white convertible was barren, save for a pair of purple boots he knew on sight. Her feet were propped on the backset window area of the car, whose top was down, and they tapped rather rhythmically together. As he pulled to a stop, he glanced over and she was stepping over the seat to pull the keys out of the ignition.

"Heard you had a busy afternoon," he called as he pushed his door open.

"Yeah, you could say that." Her laugh was light as she jumped out of the car.

"Strawberry or vanilla?"

She looked at him curiously.

"I could lie and say it was a peace offering. Truth is, I was starving and figured I wouldn't be a total dick."

"Vanilla," she replied with a wide grin.

Troy laughed and handed her a shake and a straw, then weighed his options before he said it. "Thought you didn't care for vanilla?"

She glanced up at him through those long eye lashes, her eyes appearing just a hair greener than usual, as she seemed to be calculating her response. "It has its redeeming qualities."

Troy knew he walked into that one. The smile was his undoing though, it usually was. There was something warm and innocent in it, alluring; something that felt so out of place considering everything else-who he was, the colors they were wearing, hell, even the reason they were out here in the middle of nowhere.

"And I can't believe you remember that, of all things." Furia hopped onto the edge of his hood and he tossed a bag at her.

"It kind of stood out. I was expecting nerves from your first time out, not relaxed snark."

"It might have been the first time I walked into that situation with that intent. But those are not the first guys I've ever met thinking with the wrong head."

Troy choked on his drink, not expecting her candor.

"Sorry," she said, covering her mouth and trying not to laugh. "Didn't realize you had such an innocent nature."

He glared at her sharply, which caused her to giggle. _Why the hell are you doing this to yourself?_ His response to her was calculated. He wanted to hear that sound, see her smile, make her comfortable around him. All the time knowing that he would have to keep his distance, there was no way he could follow this out to fruition. The tingling sensation in his chest battled against the dark emptiness in his gut-his body felt like the literal warzone of the old saying about wanting what you cannot have.

"I grew up in that part of town," she continued, "and even with more brothers, uncles, and male cousins than you can shake a stick at, I'm well versed in being cat called. So that part I'm a veteran at. Same thing with that bald nimrod from the race. Some guys just seem convinced that every girl will just instantly fall for their bullshit."

"You breaking my heart here. You mean that's not true?"

She swatted him lightly and Troy feigned injury. "Listillo,[ii]" she muttered.

Troy glanced over at her. "You do realize I don't speak Spanish, right?"

"Mmhmm." Her widening grin made him smile in response. "I was pretty sure early on there."

"So is this your way of encouraging me to learn?"

She grimaced and shook her head slightly. "No. Sometimes it just happens. Other times it is more contrived."

"I'm guessing the few I can get the gist of are the instinctual ones."

Furia laughed and nodded. "So, where are you from Troy? Because I know you didn't grow up on the Row."

"Does it really matter? It's just like here. May not be the same neighborhood I grew up in, but in a way it is, you know. Go to sleep to screams, sirens, and gunshots. Learn not to sit too close to the windows. Learn the safest route home from school. Know which colors you can't wear and whose territory you have to cut through to get home. I did and didn't grow up in Stilwater, believe me."

"So why come here and join the Saints?"

"That's not why I came to Stilwater. I was kind of looking to avoid all of this. But it couldn't be helped," he looked away quickly. It was all true. He had left Peachtree City to have a chance at his own life, to get away from his past and his family. And it was just as bad or close to as bad as Stilwater, though the violence back home paled in comparison to what was going on here.

"How do you know Julius?"

Bradshaw shifted slightly under her scrutiny. He was usually the one with all the questions, and he was not entirely comfortable being interrogated, though deep down he knew that was not was she was doing. "Kind of met him the same way I met you. In the wrong place at the right time."

"Yeah, I still owe you for that."

"Nah, you never owed me. That was a freebie," he said, balling up his empty wrapper and tossing it in the bag. "Teaching you to shoot, however. That you owe me for."

"Damn. With as bad as I am at this, it will take forever to pay off this debt." Furia slid off his hood.

While Troy grabbed what remained of the treat he brought them, she slipped off her hoodie and tossed it in the convertible. When he turned she was leaning into the car and came up with her pistol.

"I'm kind of out of rounds," she said with a wince. "But I have a few empty clips, if you still have that handy dandy box of ammunition from last time.

Troy went to the trunk and retrieved said item. "Have you cleaned that thing since the last time we did this?" The quick little facial tick told him the answer. "What are you doing after this?"

"Going home to take a shower. Peaches and some of the other girls were planning on making the rounds. I'm free in the morning."

Troy looked up trying to remember if he had anything pressing the next day, but nothing came to mind. So he agreed to meet her at her place in the morning. With that decided, they quickly refilled her clips and set to the task at hand.

**-5-**

* * *

The only good thing Furia could say was that at least she was now usually hitting the targets. Troy leaned toward her and that warm, heady, spice-tinged scent tickled her nose and rushed right to her brain. It was not the only thing about him that made her feel comfortable and not at the same time, but it was the most constant reminder that she was considering ideas she should not be.

One thing she was pleased about was having the forethought to wear a shirt that reached past her waist. His hands on her bare skin the other night had been more distracting than she really wanted to admit. Uncertain if he was aware of the effect he had on her or if there was some other cause for his caution, Furia did note that this lesson was a lot more distant. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the craziness of the other night. Furia would have sworn, though to no one other than herself, that Troy seemed to be trying to keep his distance more than the last time. It was a factor she appreciated while another part of her decried his sudden sense of propriety.

"Are you lining up the sights?" he asked with a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Yes. I think," she replied shortly; her shoulders shrugged a little as she reloaded the gun. "Look maybe this just isn't going to happen and I should stick with pray and spray weapons."

Troy laughed. "No, you just need to stop taking shooting advice from Marco. Come on. Back in your stance."

When he stood behind her, Furia tensed.

Troy set his hands on her shoulders and quietly told her to relax, as his hand squeezed once before letting go.

She could not help her thoughts. _That would be so much easier if you weren't right here_. Of course she did not say it. But she thought it and other similar ideas very loudly, as she tried to remain in complete control.

Suddenly she felt surrounded by him and it was hard to breathe normally. She could hear his voice but nothing was processing as his hands moved down her bare arms manipulating them into the right hold, adjusting her stance and her grip. Almost certain she heard him say her name, she turned her head. It was an intensely poor choice.

His eyes bored into hers, the warm golden center of the irises seeming to draw her in. Closing her eyes and turning away quickly, she also forced herself to take a step to her right, in an attempt to get out of whatever bubble his proximity placed her in. "Sorry. Lost my train of thought."

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself and took aim-missing the first six shots she fired. After flipping n the safety, she laid the gun on the little table in front of her and leaned on it for a long moment.

"I think I might be done for this afternoon," she admitted.

"After the day you've had I can imagine," Troy replied, she was aware of the slight tension in his voice, but she paid it no heed. She did not need to see his face to feel the accusation of her foolishness.

Furia shook her head at the shiny nickel-plated Vice 9 lying on the table. _He saw it. There is no way anyone is that obtuse. Can't even manage to exercise control for an hour,_ she scolded herself. When she felt his hand on her back she reacted as if he had somehow burned her or stung her.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. The gentleness in his voice and the soft concern in his eyes tried both her patience and her resolve.

_Why do you have to be a half decent guy? Why couldn't you just be a self-involved prick or an over-confident jackass, like most the rest of the guys? Damn you, Troy._

"I'm fine. Just maybe not feeling it after that little excursion earlier," she replied in a half-hearted tone.

Troy tucked his hands in his pockets. He looked almost hurt that she had reacted to him like she had. The softness in his gaze just made everything all the more confusing for her.

Deciding quickly that this was the worst place for her to be at that particular moment, she nodded and crossed her arms before she started to back away from him slowly. "Umm… I'm going to go. Have to get Marco his car back and all, before Peaches and them show up."

"Sure."

With that thickly baited single word, Furia turned and walked quickly back to the little white breezer. She hopped over the passenger door and stepped across the seats before sliding into the driver's seat.

"You have got to be out of your ever-loving mind, girl. Memo would lose it. Antonio would have a stroke. Hell, even Miguel might get up in arms about that shit." She leaned back in the seat, arm propped on the door, as she leaned her forehead against her hand.

Furia was speeding, but she really did not care. Even if some berry did light her up, she knew Marco's car had an engine to die for. Any resulting chase would be more an exercise in control than an exercise in stupidity. Deep down she knew that no matter how fast she drove she would not be able to outrun what had her spooked. And it was something infinitely more frightening to her than any of Stilwater's Finest.

* * *

i Dime (Dee-may) - talk to me (note, it is likely I will forget to end note this in the future, apologies in advance).

ii Listillo - smart ass / smart aleck


	7. Influences

**Summary: **The mundane can be fun when you have someone to share it with, even if you're hung-over. And after taking on a job for Dex, Furia finds herself putting her own reputation on the line to save someone else's good name. Her chivalry leaves her feeling a little like a real-life crash test dummy.

**A/N:** Thanks again to the lovely Chy for her priceless assistance.

* * *

**Before I See**

**07 Influences**

**-1-**

* * *

The phone screamed for her attention. Furia poked her head out from under the throw usually draped over the back of the sofa, which she had pulled across her face when the sun started to take over the room. She dug the phone out of the pocket of the jeans she was still wearing from last night. Her head seemed to cramp with the movement of sitting up and she groaned, despite this she answered it without even looking at the device.

"Are you here?"

The voice jogged her memory and her eyes shot open. "What time is it?"

"Ten."

"¡Válgame dios!"

"That good, huh?"

"Something like that," she drawled and stood to check the window. It took her a moment to equalize her balance against another sharp throb to her head. Sure as hell, he was leaning on the side of that black Bootlegger looking at her building. She was not even going to ask how he knew where she lived. "I'll buzz you in. 5B, door's open. But give me a handful of minutes. I apparently didn't make it much past the door last night."

Troy just chuckled at her. She watched him lean into his car before she crossed the room. "Been there a time or two, myself."

"I bet. See ya in a bit."

When the buzzer screeched, Furia had to wonder how she had managed to sleep through that God-awful sound the first go around. She punched him in and unlocked the door before ducking into her bedroom and locking that door to the back of the little apartment she had rented after her first few weeks with the Saints. She did it purely out of paranoia and concern for her family. It was one thing if someone followed her here. But she did not want anyone associating her with her grandparent's old place-too much family went in and out of there for her to be connected with it except in passing.

Being one of seven kids meant she was a master at the bare bones shower-in a pinch she could get in and out in ten minutes-though she knew she was not operating at peak that morning so it was probably closer to fifteen. She tried to transition to clothed mostly awake human as quickly as possible, but Troy looked bored when she finally emerged.

"Really sorry," she said as she padded across the room, taking note of how he had laid claim to the coffee table she had rigged up with cinder blocks and plywood. There were two thick gray squares lying across the bare wood, the one in front of him looked well-used, marked by splotches of black and darker gray, whereas the other looked pristine. In the center of each lay a handgun, she guessed one was hers because she had left it on the table the afternoon before at the makeshift shooting range.

"It's all good. After what you told me yesterday I kind of expected it," he revealed, leaning forward. He handed her a small cup.

"You can't seriously be for real," she replied too quickly as she took the still warm cup out of his hands. Furia sat in front of the other spot he had laid out on the table.

Troy just laughed. He scooted to the edge of the couch and she just watched him for a moment. "I should have taught you how to clean this before now. I just figured-"

"That I had any clue about guns. ¡Ni en sueños!"

"Well, we're going to see if we can change that. You should be at least cleaning this thing once a week, though most would say every time you use it, which in your case would probably be daily."

She sipped her coffee as he cast that goddamn little grin at her. _You don't have a clue, do you? How can he be that oblivious?_ She shook her head. _Or maybe he's just being nice and ignoring it, niña tontai._ Furia took another drink of the coffee he had brought her and eyed the precise line of items he created in the center of the table. He laid out brushes and rods and some swirly bristled thing and a roll of blue shop towels; the kind Miguel loved to have around.

"What is all this?"

"This is what's going to keep that gun from misfiring on you." He turned toward her and stole her cup. "You can have it back when you're done."

"So mean."

She scooted up toward the table and they quickly safety-cleared their weapons. That she knew how to do.

"Just point it in a safe direction and pull the trigger so we can get the slide offii," Troy ordered.

He described how to grip the pistol to get the two major pieces apart, but it just was not working for her. The moment he leaned toward her reinforcing the placement of her hand with his she knew this was going to be yet another one of those battles with the rebellious side of her brain. Anytime he touched her, Furia made a concentrated effort not to look at him, trying to keep her mind precisely on what he was trying to show her.

Thankfully once she finally got the slide mechanism off the pistol it was really the last time she needed his physical assistance beyond some pointing and gesturing or re-performing an action so she could see it again. She could not decide why he, of all people, would prompt this reaction from her. He was not even her type, or so she thought.

He was tall, that fit her usual MO with guys but that was it. She had not really been lying when she insinuated she did not date white guys, because she never had. As she stuffed a few wadded up cotton squares in one end of the barrel before spraying the green can of whatever into it for several seconds she thought about it and came to the realization that the only thing her exes all had in common was that they were all over 6'1" and had been total assholes.

"Now spray the outside too. Just lightly and set it aside."

_Maybe that's it. _Troy had talked to her about her reactions to things. He showed an interest and a concern for her safety. Hell, he was sitting in her apartment with her hung-over trying to teach her how to keep her gun from blowing up in her face, even if she could barely hit anything with it still.

Troy tore a blue towel off the roll and held it out to her, while studying his own weapon in pieces in front of him. She took it and he grabbed one for himself. They cleaned the spray off their grips and their slides then turned to using cotton swabs to get in the little crevices the towel could not really reach.

Thinking about these things did not really make this any easier for her to try and ignore; in fact if anything she was pretty well certain that trying to decipher why he affected her the way he did simply made it worse.

"And this is why, you need to clean it every time you use it," he said laughing at the look on her face when she swiped the swab into a little crevice in the grip and it came out blackened. "Keep going until it comes out closer to clean than not."

"Yeah. But I'm still not sure I can get the slide off on my own."

"Then when we finish, you can practice taking it apart over and over."

She cast a sidelong glance in his direction. "You really know how to show a girl a good time, damn."

Troy just chuckled. "Oh, I have more tricks up my sleeve than gun maintenance trust me."

Furia just smiled and moved her eyes back to the slide. Much easier to pretend he was just anyone else when she did not look at him, though even then it pretty much failed. Between the voice and the smell of him she could never mistake Troy Bradshaw. "How's that look?"

Grabbing another swab, he swiped the cotton over the surfaces of the slide before declaring it clean and directing her to turn her attention to the recoil spring, after which they would finish with the barrels.

**-2-**

* * *

"¡Caracoles!"

Troy just laughed at her reaction to the result of the first slide of the barrel brush through the barrel. "Just swipe it through a few more times."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if he was suggesting it just to be an ass.

"You want to make sure you get it as clean as possible," Troy advised. He grabbed a few cotton patches and folded them in half before threading them in the cleaning rod.

"This is just-"

"The result of not cleaning it for a few weeks. Pass this through five or six times to clean it out the rest of the spray and dry it." He held out the rod to her and she forced the swabs through the barrel several times.

He walked her through the oiling of the parts and the reassembly. It took probably five times longer than it usually took him, but then he had been doing this sort of thing since he was a kid. Then he talked her through removing the slide again. The first few times he had to actually help, not that he minded. Bradshaw knew he should back off, but even if Julius had not told him to help her out, somehow he knew he would be anyway.

This was not her thing-guns, violence, gangs. Despite that Furia was taking to it like a duck to water, but it did not seem like it was the kind of life she should have been destined for. Sure, she grew up on the Row, but she had been in school. There was something else out there for her, but then things went sideways. It was a feeling he knew and understood. _You make plans for your world then one thing can topple the whole mess around your feet._

"Keep the web of your hand under here, Then wrap your index finger over the top," he said, leaning closer to her and setting his hand over hers.

The faint hint of vanilla was tempting, he guessed it was her soap or her shampoo, but it was familiar-something he had come to associate with her.

"Yep, there you go. Now, slide it back on, make sure you line it up. Then try it again." Troy moved away from her again.

As much as part of him was incredibly concerned about her knowing how to use and handle a gun, there was a very greedy part that enjoyed the time he got to steal with her precisely because she was an amateur. It took more self-control than he realized he had to keep himself in check, to not kiss her when she looked up at him with those intense hazel eyes rimmed in that tempting shade of emerald. Too many times he could have closed that distance and tumbled past the line of all rationality.

A few more tries and she had it down. She really did pick all of this stuff up too easily.

"And I have to do this every day?" she asked as she reloaded the weapon and checked the safety, before she laid it on the table.

"At least every other, but you don't want to leave it much longer than that, especially with a rep like yours."

"And what rep is that?" she asked as she crossed the room.

"From my understanding, Mr. Xiang at Friendly Fire gives you a volume discount on ammo, or should be," he chided, leaning back against the sofa watching her as she entered the kitchen.

"If you touch my furniture with that grease on your hands, I'll beat you with a shoe."

Troy held his hands out in front of him, but complied. "Considering that couch looks like you picked it up off the corner, I don't think it would hurt."

She flicked suds at him and glared as he approached. "It came with the apartment, actually," she explained rinsing her hands before allowing him the use of her sink.

"Has it been here since the place was built?" he called as she rounded the corner.

"Not funny," she replied from the back of the tiny apartment.

A few minutes later, Furia came back out of the bedroom and gathered up her weapon, sliding the Vice 9 into the holster she carried it in. She caught him inspecting the pictures decorating the bookcase across the room. Before he could even ask about them she was beside him, leaning past his shoulder.

"Me and Memo, you can probably guess. That's Maximo he's going to be a freshman at Eastern Polytechnic. The twins Enrique and Emilio are going to be seniors this year. Gabriel's the baby, he's a freshman. And Socorro … she's a sophomore."

Troy heard the bittersweet twinge when she mentioned her sister. "Seven of you? How far apart?"

"Memo, Max and the twins, and then Socorro and Gabe are Irish twins. Just over a year between them all." She laughed lightly. "Abuelita always said Mama loved my father a little too much."

"What about between you and Memo?"

"Three years."

"Were you more trouble than the others?"

She looked up at him aghast at the suggestion. "No, surprisingly. He was on deployment, a hardship tour I think is what Mama called it."

"He was in the service?" Troy glanced back at the shelf looking at the pictures. There was a photo of her with two older women that she favored a bit, he guessed that was her mother and grandmother. But none of the family pictures seemed to have men in them, other than her brothers. Though a few had the seven kids and a woman he guessed was her mother.

"You won't find one."

"What?"

"My father died before Gabe was born. Training accident or something equally as ridiculous," she divulged, biting at her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," he began but she waved it off.

"I did not really know him all that well. He was usually only home long enough to get Mama pregnant anyway." She stood and grabbed the holster, tucking it into her waistband before flipping her shirt over it. "Anything interesting going on that you know of?"

"Not that I've heard yet. I think Dex's boys are close though. They've been busy as hell, trying to pinpoint the drug labs the Carnales are using in this part of town to supply their product. Why? You bored?"

"No, procrastinating."

"Really?" he asked, surprised by her answer. "What are you avoiding?"

"Looking for a car," Furia admitted, tucking her hands into her pockets.

"Hell, I would figure that was the first thing you did once you got things settled up." Troy sat on the edge of the sofa. Checking the safety on his gun, he ran the blue cloth over it quickly before holstering it. Then he folded up the gray cloth he had been using and tucked into a little black bag.

"Yeah, well, I'm picky about cars."

"No. Not you."

She rolled her eyes at him. Usually that particular response irritated him, but somehow when she did it, it was endearing and most of the time deserved. He leaned back against the sofa and laced his fingers behind his head. "What are you looking for?"

"Domestic. Big engine. Standard transmission. Slightly compact build so that I can make the cops work for it-but with four doors. And it needs a frame that's in good enough shape to handle some work. Everything else I can replace or rework really."

"So you want my car?"

"You interested in selling?" she chided.

"No, but I might know a guy-"

"No, I'm looking for legit. Nothing hot."

"My only connection for that sort of thing likes you more than he likes me," Troy revealed, meaning her cousin Miguel. "I was thinking of Samson's brother, Hercules. He's got that used car place out near the Barrio. If nothing else you could let him know what you're looking for and he could keep an eye out. So what would your ideal be?"

Furia leaned on a dresser across the room and looked up at the ceiling, She appeared to be calculating something, likely adding up the pros and cons of all the vehicles she was familiar with. Troy ran his hand over his forehead as he stared at her, waiting for her decision. Every little thing he learned about her pushed him toward a line he should not even be considering crossing.

"Hammerhead, Bootlegger, Vegas, maybe, if I was desperate."

Troy pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Got a pen and paper?"

She quickly provided both from a drawer in the item she was leaning against.

"Call him when you have a few hours free. Tell him I sent you and he'll know you're actually a Saint and not just someone with a penchant for purple."

Instinctively he glanced at his phone when hers rang. He merely watched quietly. She gestured for the pen and quickly scrawled two addresses. Her side of the conversation was limited to silent nods and a few affirmative responses. If he had to guess, it was Julius, Dex, or Johnny with a job. Ripping the sheet off the pad, she stuffed it in her pocket and crossed to the back of the apartment again.

The undercover cop knew the sounds when he heard them-clearing and loading a shotgun. The errant thought that he would need to show her how to clean one of those sprinted through his head, quickly followed by the curiosity about what she was preparing for.

"I got it. I'll call you when it's done," Furia said as she pumped the shotgun.

Her eyes quickly met Troy's.

"Any chance I could bum a ride to"-she dug the sheet of paper out of her pocket-"Madelyn and Tenth."

"Sure. You need more than a ride?" he asked cautiously.

"Nah. Sounds pretty straight forward. Influence a few people and set some things on fire. Not much heavy lifting involved."

Though he knew there was likely a lot more to it than that, he was not going to argue with her. If she felt it was something she could handle, he would leave it at that, even if he did not want to.

**-3-**

* * *

Dexter Jackson eyed the map as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of his workstation. He knew the plan had to come off, which is precisely why he called Furia, even Javier said she was one of the best. The lieutenant just hoped the guy was using the head between his shoulders and not the one between his legs to reach that assessment. That seemed to be proving a more common symptom than Dex really wanted to consider, though the first time he met her after the canonization he could see why.

When he heard the smooth voice approaching his office, Dex glanced over his toward the door. She was pretty, he had to admit-black hair, sepia skin, and the eyes were striking, they were light, a haunting contrast to the darkness of the rest of her features. Even despite her penchant for baggy clothes, he could tell she had a nice shape to her-tall and lean. Yeah, he could definitely see the reason Javier and Marco were overzealous in their praise.

"Thanks for taking care of this on short notice," Dex said as he stood.

"Ni jota," she replied and crossed the room.

He gave her some necessary background on the Carnales, and could not help but be pleased that she did not refer to them as _the_ Los Carnales, though he figured she might avoid that little too common faux pas.

"From what my crew says, you handled it to perfection." He had had two of his crew watching and then they walked through the buildings after she left to make sure things were accomplished to Dex's standards. And their verdict had been: pristine.

"Órale. It was simple and straight forward. Surprisingly there was not that much resistance."

"And shotguns are great for handling resistance effectively."

Furia smirked. "I'm a little more accurate with it, as I'm sure you've heard."

"Yeah, Julius mentioned that."

"So what's the next step?"

Dex sat down and leaned back in his chair. "We wait for Troy and our guys to find the main plant."

Her eyebrows raised slightly. "We just hang out and wait?"

He nodded with a confidence that seemed to set her on edge. _Good_. Dex liked to keep his subordinates on edge.

"How long?"

"A day, at the max. These runners were there almost daily. They will need product soon. Product you very completely destroyed. So they will have to go to the main plant, there is no way the other little labs will be able to support that many extra runners."

"Why didn't we just take out all the labs?"

"Because that would have brought them to our doorstep. Instead, we hit two which were fairly close to the Row and it looks less like a major power play and more about securing our own turf. Sure, it will raise eyebrows-"

"But not alarms," she finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dex grinned. He might just have to like her just a little. "Precisely."

"So when we know where their main operation is, are we going in?"

Lacing his hands behind his head he nodded. "Yeah, eventually. But I have to know where it is before we can go after it. Get a lay of the land, so to speak. Ya feel me?"

"So you can minimize loss?" she asked as she ogled the board he had set up on the wall.

"Precisely. Not worth destroying _all_ that product when we can turn it around."

Furia lifted the photos slightly, looking at the faces carefully. He was not sure how to read her silence. Lin and Troy trusted her, or so they said. Johnny said she did him a solid. And it was obvious Julius had his eye on her. But Dex was not so sure. Not yet.

"Saleiii." The woman turned and looked at him for a moment. "Call me if you need me," she said before she turned and walked out of the room.

**-4-**

* * *

The thick bass of the music in the nave pulsed against the stone and rattled the glass in the high windows. Furia glanced around the room, aware of the segregation. The canonized ladies were all sitting together in the northeast corner of the church near the entrance to Johnny's office. On the east side of the church was a group of guys, mostly from Johnny's and Julius' crews, though there were a few of Troy's boys. The few girls on that side of the room were all viejas-girlfriends, not canonized Saints, some of the guys had taken to calling them Angels.

Thus far, Furia had not spent all that much time around the religious headquarters of the gang, so she opted to lean there against the wall in the alcove and observe. The girls in the gang pretty much ignored the other side of the church. The girlfriends often quickly tired of being ignored in favor of whatever conversation overruled their presence, and would retreat to the other side of the church; surprisingly, they were not turned away. It was precisely the type of line Furia abhorred.

"Nah, she can drive the hell out of car," Mikey challenged loudly enough to call her attention to him when he stood.

"Racing don't mean shit at the arena."

"I bet you"-the kid dug into his pocket, but before he could retrieve his cash Furia's hand latched around his arm.

"What're you doing, Mikey?" she asked quietly, setting her hand on his shoulder. She did not need to look around the room to know everyone was staring.

He looked over at her and seemed to shrink a little.

"Your boy here seems to think you could drive the derby," Dean-O advised with that smug look she really wanted to slap off his face.

Furia took a slow breath and held her eyes closed for an extra second.

"I'm pretty sure he was going to lay some money down to that effect," the dark-eyed man noted, as he groomed his impressive afro.

Without putting too much thought into what she was about to do, Furia glanced over her shoulder. "Peaches, you still got a cousin working at the arena?"

"Yeah."

"You think he could kneecap some driver and get me in one of those cars?"

"Sure?" Her friend's tone was cautious.

Dean-O looked appalled. He had figured she would back out. It was not her fight after all. It was Mikey's big mouth that started all this, and Furia knew by the look on Dean's face that he expected her to let him twist for the mistake. But in that instant she decided she was not just going to drop him a peg. She was going to cold cock him with his own ego.

"Lucy, you want to run the book on this little excursion?" Furia asked, staring right at Dean. Her grin widened when he flinched. _That's right you smug little prick. I'm going to make you put your money where your mouth is. _Furia might regret this in about three hours, but if she was going to save Mikey's ass again and end up with a case of whiplash she was going to keep things in the hands of the people she trusted.

"Hell yes." The tiny woman bounded across the room. Furia leaned toward her and placed her own bet on herself. Lucy's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

The nod sealed the deal. Then the driver walked out of the church and took a seat on the steps.

"You don't have to do this," Mikey D noted as he sat down beside her. "Dean was just being a dick."

"No surprise there," Furia replied, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?"

"Not really, though I've run down a few cars before, probably something like that would be my guess. Though those were just love taps, this is probably going to be a little more painful."

Mikey laughed. "Probably." He leaned toward her and whispered, "Sorry."

"Ni jota, guey. I was going to have to do something to bring Dean-O down a peg anyway. Might as well wreck some cars in the process."

Mikey grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"You got this."

The woman flicked her hood up and nodded once. She was not quite so sure. Her time behind the wheel was spent avoiding shit like this. Body damage did not earn a booster points when they were trying to sell the vehicle or the parts. Damage to your prize was dangerous to the work she did.

Peaches bounded down the steps and slid her arm over Furia's shoulder. "Shall I drive?"

"Not a fucking chance," Furia replied snatching the woman's keys out of her hand.

**-5-**

* * *

Neither the hand-me-down fireproof suit that smelled like hot dogs, nor the cracked helmet made Furia feel any better about this stupid decision. _You barely know Mikey D, what do you care if he makes an idiot of himself and challenges someone to something he can't deliver. What the hell were you thinking? Going to fucking wind up a charred stain on a cheap vinyl seat. ¡Idiota!_

The air horn sounded and the rumble of the other engines told her they were rushing to the center. She had seen a few of these types of things on the TV in her uncle's garage. _¡Chingame! _Her foot slammed on the gas, but she did not go quite straight into the fray. Her guess proved right when she slammed into the rear quarter panel of a sedan and fishtailed it.

The fact she could hear the other driver yelling caught her off guard. She could not tell what expletives he was directing at her, but she could make an educated guess. A quick look to the left showed a small group gathered against a guard rail, but when she clipped the turn, the guy she had spun t-boned her.

A shake of her head did not really clear the stars, but she at least they were dancing at the edge of her vision. She took off again, aiming her vehicle for the pile; it had to be the most unnatural response she had ever had behind the wheel. The hit was hard and spun her car into another, she reversed out of the space before Mr. Vengeful cracked her again.

"Damn, I hate automatics," she growled as she hit the gas again and love tapped her new friend.

Just for good measure she blew a little kiss at him before backing out of the fray again. Back in drive, she saw a hot pink car racing toward her.

"You can't be serious." She had played chicken before and almost swerved in time. He barely caught her back end which spun her far enough around that she was able to give chase, when he rammed the wall, she barreled her little sedan into his rear-end.

The laugh turned maniacal when she noticed the smoke.

She heard him yell, "Bitch!" as he scrambled out of the car which had actually caught fire.

"This is pretty fun," she opined as she drove around the edge of the arena. There was a station wagon upside down and a group of three cars just playing with each other on the other side. "Yes. I would love to join you."

She pointed the older make vehicle toward the gathering and managed to drive right between two of them as they backed away from one another and hit her pal in the third head on. That collision left her in the kill zone long enough and got mashed from both sides but luckily they did not back up their ramming with much speed. When she reversed across the dirt arena Mr. Vengeful gave chase.

"Sure thing, pal."

When she accelerated toward him she turned in hopes that he would hit the corner of her bumper. It worked but she did not know if it was a good thing or not. But noticing that she was in line with one of the bash brothers, she kept her foot nailed to the floor. The force of this hit carried them both to the edge of the ring. When his car crunched against the rail, hers collapsed the passenger side doors.

One thing she was sure of was that nothing was done here at low speed. Dropping into reverse, her foot hit the floorboard again and she backed toward the vehicles closing on her. One of them was going to rock her, she knew, maybe both of them would.

"¡Coñoiv!" Furia yelled when the car she backed into hopped her bumper as the other hit her near the rear tire, spinning her care and doing horrible things to Mr. Vengeful's ride as well. Her little friend wound up teetering on his roof as the remaining green car aimed for the upside down vehicle in the center of the ring. Furia knew that she needed to get back at the little coupe.

Reverse was a bitch to maneuver in, but when Mr. Green he hit the other disabled vehicle he was a prime target. She had enough power to make him shake his head before he turned the wheel to give chase, which had given her enough time to put some useable distance between them. When he spun to face her, she was in reverse again. He proved worse than her at chicken. She caught enough of his front end to push him the twenty feet to the wall, where she ground the back bumper of her car into his grill.

She growled when she realized she was going to have to release him from the makeshift prison to take him out. Chewing at the inside of her cheek she sped across the field. It was in this instant that she was glad for the old dirt tracks she and Miguel had run on . Two cars were downed in the field, though two were against the rails. So she had obstacles she could use to her advantage.

After weaving him through the wrecks once, her competitor halted the next time she dashed through the center of the ring, which gave her the distance she needed. When she slid into position, she watched him lean toward the wheel. Furia loved people with easy tells.

"Come and get me," she taunted lowly. She knew he would turn into her as soon as she made her move, in fact she was counting on it.

Her acceleration was just right, the corners of their bumpers ticked and he took a big slide into the side of the burning car. Before he was able to recover she was backing toward him.

"¡Dios! Let me hit the damn radiator on that sucker."

The hit was harder than she anticipated, but the scream drew her attention. She could not help but laugh when she noticed the interior of the green car had caught fire, and the driver was scrambling out. Furia pounded her fist on the roof twice.

"Nicely done, number fifteen," she told the car as she pulled away from the burning vehicles.

**-6-**

* * *

"Lucky number fifteen!" Mikey yelled, standing on his chair holding his shot glass high in the air.

Johnny slipped through the crowd of purple and pulled rank on Marco who was leaning over the victorious driver.

"Thanks," Furia said as she sat up.

She had been hunched over the bar in a rather discouraging pose, but Marco was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, or so Johnny thought. But the kid did have nerves of steel.

"That was an interesting little diversion."

"And lucrative." The amber bottle rose to her lips.

"Lucy mentioned you threw down quite a bet." Johnny leaned on one elbow as he observed the group behind her. "Some would call foul."

"I placed my bet first and in front of everyone," she defended, turning to face him.

Johnny held up his hands. "I'm not saying shit. I put my money on you, too. And Troy's right, you are determined."

The wince did not escape his notice. "Yeah well, I have my reasons."

"We all have our reasons. I'm not judging."

The young woman nodded. "Well, I think that was a one-time thing," she said, rubbing her hand against his neck.

"Bad?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "Probably not."

"You did take a few good hits."

"But I gave as good as I got."

"That you did." Johnny inched toward her and she repacted in kind. "In a few days, I'll have everything lined up and I need a driver, but I want the driver Lin told me about, not the one I saw tonight. Quick and clean, no trading paint."

"That is my preference," she replied.

"Good. Come see me Thursday morning about ten, and I'll get you set up. Wear something professional looking, no flags."

"I can do that."

"Good," Johnny concluded, tapping her on the shoulder.

* * *

i Niña tonta - silly girl

ii So I tried to figure out what 9mm a Vice 9 was likely closest to. But I really could not find one that fit. It really looks like it could be somewhere between a Glock and an M1911. The NR4s look more like Berettas. So I opted to mimic the breakdown and cleaning for a Glock 19 with the Vice 9, even though Glocks are typically black and not nickel-plated.

iii Sale (SA-lay) - That's fine/cool. I agree/Sure.

iv Coño - Damn


	8. Exacerbation

**Summary:** Without fail, usually, Furia attended mass with her family, but this one was different. The strain of her brother Maximo leaving for college that evening has her abnormally tense. And when Dex decides tonight is the night to strike at the Carnales drug interests, she does not have her typical patience. The combination of situations and expectations, sets the young woman on edge.

**a/n:** Usual thanks to Chyrstis, for her careful attention and assistance.

* * *

**Solitude: Before I See **

**08 Exacerbation**

**-1-**

* * *

Memo parked the car on the street, part of him expected to find his sister on the front steps tapping her foot impatiently at him, but he actually had to honk. He saw some movement in the top floor window, but he could not see her clearly. _Hell, she's probably impressed I even remembered today_, he thought. Guillermo Guerrero might not be quite as proactive about these sorts of things as his older sister, but he would be damned if he was going to miss Maximo's last day in Stilwater. Part of him was really glad his brother, but he was also going to miss the brainy little punk.

When Furia hurried through the front door of her place he whistled sharply, only because he knew it would annoy her. When she punched him in the shoulder none too lightly, Memo laughed playfully, rubbing at his shoulder while he dangled the keys to his car at her.

"You went all out. Tia will be happy to see you in a dress," he noted, rounding the Cavallaro.

Three Sundays prior Furia had worn a pair of slacks and throughout the mass he remembered hearing his aunt whispering at his sister. He found out later that the every single time the woman leaned forward she had found some new reason why it was inappropriate for his sister to be wearing slacks in the house of God. It was something Furia was used to much more than Memo.

"Yeah, well, no need to add any more lectures to what I'm already expecting," Furia replied as she slid into the driver's seat.

She knew how much Guillermo hated letting anyone drive his car, but he knew how much Furia hated his driving. So, with her, he sometimes compromised. And this morning he was going to let her drive. Somehow he was certain more than lectures were in store for her that day. The little traces of purple on her person would not go unnoticed by Antonio. Even if no one else would know the significance, their uncle would for sure.

Memo rubbed his forehead as she sped toward the church in the Barrio. It was highly likely Tio Antonio would blame this on him, even though Memo had not even had the chance to try and talk her out of it. Hell, by the time that chance came around she had already proven herself too useful for anyone to let her walk away, which still annoyed him.

The irritation sprang mostly from the realization of his own naivety about things he felt he should have noticed. He would have foregone a lot of things in school if he had any idea that his sister was the reason he was able to have those opportunities. Memo truly thought it had been his uncle who was fronting the cost of football camp and his science tutors. Part of him was still pissed that Furia never told him.

At the same time, he found a new respect for her. There were times, in school, when he wondered why Furia did not come around as much as she did before she had graduated high school. He assumed it was because she was out living her life, that he and his siblings somehow were not quite as high on her list once she could get out of their Uncle Antonio's house. It still floored him to know that she had not moved out as a choice of her own-a fact he discovered shortly after his own high school graduation. On top of that, she worked two or three jobs to try to make sure he and his siblings got to do the things they wanted.

Memo watched her as they came up on the church, she was still doing it. Working her ass off, doing things he hoped she would rather not be doing, for all of them. And all the while, not telling any of them, she was the reason behind it. In part he was mad that she did not tell them all that it was their sister taking care of them. But he also knew that Furia was right. It did not matter who was footing the responsibility, as long as they got to do it. That was what mattered most to her, and she was right. He remembered how much playing ball had meant to him at the time.

Despite the myriad of empty spaces closer to the church she parked his Cavallaro a little farther away and in such a way as to be able to take quick advantage of any of the exits of the parking lot. When she leaned forward, he knew what she was doing because he had done it before she got into the car.

"What?" she asked when she noticed him watching her.

"Figured you would leave that thing at home."

"Like you?"

Memo laughed. "Well, I'm supposed to go back out tonight and relieve some of the guys sitting on Dex's runners."

"How's that going?" Her voice was low as the pair exited the vehicle and walked toward the church.

His keys went into the little purse she was carrying, something she only carried on occasions such as this, and her dress did not seem to have pockets. "Not really sure. The guy I've been on hasn't really moved."

"And Dex and … them know you'll be here today, right?"

"I've got someone to cover for me. Besides I talked to Troy already. He knows I'll be locked down until Max leaves, and he's cool with it."

His sister bristled as they walked into the church, but he figured that was more about the place than the conversation. She seemed to freeze just inside the door. Ever since their grandmother died, Furia struggled with this part of their familial obligations. In a way most of the Guerrero kids had rough relationships with God, Furia most of all. None of them were particularly zealous in the religious aspect of their lives. The Guerrero kids were lucky in that they had aunts and uncles that temporarily took up the obligation of keeping them housed and in school. But it was a lot different in those houses than it had ever been with their grandparents or when their mother was alive.

**-2-**

* * *

Antonio had spent the morning ignoring the dainty purple earrings; his niece stopped wearing colors that had affiliations in Stilwater years earlier. Most of her wardrobe had become black and white, with some shades of gray. Furia had told him that made her feel safer. So, he just let the colorful additions slide for the time being.

Gabriel and Maximo bookended her for the entire service, one entitled to the spot given the upcoming separation, the other merely desperate for it. Gabriel, the youngest, had just been learning to walk when he essentially lost his mother. Angela was sick before he was born, but she told no one. After he was weaned, she finally let Antonio's mother, Maria, she was sick.

By then it was too late. The doctors had given Angela a year at that point. She managed to hang on about eighteen months. Furia was ten and Gabe was two, when Angela passed. From the start Furia, was always there for him; for the next six years she helped Maria take care of them all. For the youngest two, Furia was the closest thing they had to a mother, especially for Gabriel. And he adored her, whereas Socorro seemed to resent her older sister's attentions.

The admiration of her brothers, especially Gabriel's, was one of the things about her choices that made Antonio all the more irate. The family was all gathered in the living room, but when Furia turned to go to the kitchen, he followed her. When he caught up with her, his hand wrapped tight around her elbow. Furia immediately tensed, casting a sharp look at her uncle. Antonio returned it as he steered her out onto the back porch.

"After the conversation we had about Guillermo, you go and do the same damn thing," he growled, releasing her harshly after he quietly closed the door behind them.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, just the way she would when he would refuse to let her work on the cars in his shop. _Still so stubborn_.

"Do you have any idea what you are doing?" Antonio asked.

"What I must." Her eyes were as defiant as her tone.

Furia had always been the most realistic of his brother's children, always so grounded in the world. It was one of the things he loved about her, but he always hated the fact too. Antonio had always worried that her life had no dreams; no lofty ideals that would make her feel light. Everything was always so clear for her, so concrete. Hers was a life of goals, it seemed to her uncle, not dreams.

"How can you say that?"

"Do you have any idea what was going on at all?" Furia accused sharply, cutting to the meat of the argument that could have gone on for hours.

He chose not to answer.

"Accounting for the Nguyens. Bartending wherever I could get a spot. Then whatever horrible temp work I could find."

"What happened with the position at Mr. Jacobson's office?" he asked. Antonio had gotten a friend of his on the docks to hire her as a secretary at their administrative center. It was supposed to be a decent job with good benefits and potential.

She tilted her head at her uncle and eyed him coolly. "Yeah. I got groped less bartending in a strip club than I did in that office."

He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. What struck him hardest was that when he talked to his friend about this, Antonio told the man he thought of Furia like his own daughter.

"Ay, Dios. Tio, lo siento."

"No. This is my fault. I-"

"Was trying to help," Furia said much more gently than anything else they had said to one another.

She slipped her arm around his and led him down the steps and the two sat in the swing he had built for his wife when she fell ill. The two of them relaxed there in silence. Antonio could not even fathom his own reaction to what she had told him. He had wanted to help her find a job where she would be safe. Something with normal hours where she would not have to put up with people treating her the way he had seen her treated in that bar. He stood quickly and paced around the little sitting area in the garden; his hand clamped over his mouth while his mind raced.

"The bar wasn't that bad. I usually got worse going to and from work," she revealed, eyes on her fingertips as she picked at the pale polish on her nails. "But I just got a little tired of it all. Then everything else. Not being able to walk home in our old neighborhood without risking getting shot at."

"Yes, but now you're just one of the ones doing the shooting," Antonio accused.

She looked away. They both knew it was true.

"The Saints aren't like the rest of them. They are trying to make it right. Make it stop."

Antonio set his fingers under her chin and turned her face toward him. He only had to wait a moment for her eyes to meet his. She looked so much like her mother, but she had his brother's eyes-spooky and ancient. "You are not that naïve, mija. Noble intentions aside."

"Fine. Yes, I'm starting to realize that what Julius said he had in mind, might not be quite what's being put into action. But what I do know is that I can cover Socorro's art lessons, and Gabe's engineering classes. And at the rate I'm going I'll be able to cover Max's tuition and he won't have to take out a hundred grand in student loans."

"You are not their mother," Antonio told her, cupping her cheeks in his hands, like he did when she was younger and he was trying to remind her she was just a little girl. While she was no longer a girl, she was still trying to be too much, trying to be everything for everyone.

"I'm all that's left," she said quietly.

The glistening in her eyes, broke his heart. She was always so strong. Always the one everyone turned to, the one they ran to. Antonio pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. After a moment, the little quake in her shoulders made him hold her that much tighter, as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. She was his godchild; Furia always held a special place in his heart and he really did treat her like she was his own daughter.

Wriggling free of his grip, she turned her back to him and to the house as she composed herself. It took a little longer than usual. But this was her way. _Never show weakness. Never let anyone see her cry_. _Always the strong one. Always the one people could count on. _

"And you're sure this is the best way?"

"Not the best," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. "But it feels like what's left. And it is better than before, Tio."

"I don't like this Furia. You and Memo caught up in all this craziness. Your mother-"

"Don't!" Furia growled; her exasperation clear in voice and the sharp movements of her upheld hands. "Just don't! I know what she wanted. I remember her telling me all about her dreams and what my life was going to be like. It was fine for her to dream, for her to believe those sweet ideas that lulled her to sleep. But bills needed to be paid, and dancing was not going to get that done."

"Mija." When he touched her shoulder, she shrugged him off. So he turned her to face him. Antonio tucked her hair behind one of her ears. "Princesita."

He smiled when he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. It was what her father and grandfather had called her, what he always called her.

"You were always the good one. I never had to worry about you getting into something that you shouldn't be."

She sighed and looked up at her uncle. "And I was always the one that took care of the rest of them. That's what I'm doing. And I'm still the good one Tio, just with more flexible standards."

Furia kissed him on the cheek and walked back to the house.

Before he even broached the conversation he had known it was likely to turn out this way. Stubborn and strong, she had, somehow, surpassed all his sisters and stepped into his mother's roles. In too many ways she kept them all glued together, holding onto all of her family with both hands, trying to keep them close. Antonio knew she did it in part to keep her brothers and sister close despite the different homes they lived in, but it kept even Antonio and the others closer as well. Stepping into the place of matriarch way too early, after her mother then her grandparents passed, Furia took to the role and did everything she could and more for her family. All Antonio could do was watch, yet again, as she struggled to maintain some lofty and unnecessary ideal of herself. Though in the past he had worried for the type of life she had with the pace she kept up, now he found himself worrying for her life in the most physical sense.

**-3-**

* * *

Furia slammed the door after she slid into driver's seat of Memo's car. When Maximo graduated at the top of his class she was overjoyed. When he got the acceptance letter to Eastern Poly, she had taken him out to a real celebration dinner; doted on him the entire night. Part of her was thrilled, Maximo was far from Stilwater, far from the craziness overtaking the city and encroaching on her life. In her mind, he was safe. But that was not a lot of comfort. Losing things was never easy for her, and with all the hope and opportunity surrounding her brother's departure, deep down that was precisely how it felt, like she was losing him-losing yet another piece of herself.

The ringing of the phone annoyed her. She swiped at her cheeks quickly and looked at it. She cleared her throat quickly and took a deep breath before she answered it, knowing she just how lucky she was that she had not gotten this call earlier that day or in the preceding three.

"Hey Dex."

"How's it going, girl?"

"You tell me. You need something?" She was not in the mood to be sweet and social that night, which her tone suggested.

"Yep, got a line. Need a driver with good hands."

"For what?"

"Meet me at Freckle Bitch's. We can discuss it over a shake. My treat."

"I'll be there in an hour. I need to change."

"No dice. Don't have that kind of time," Dex disagreed.

"Seriously?"

"Twenty minutes," he said and hung up.

"Motherfucker." Even if she ignored the speed limit entirely she would be hard pressed to make that timeline from the airport. She started the car and gunned the engine once it was in gear.

The last few days had been easy comparatively, no one ringing her phone off the hook meant she had been able to make contact with an old friend of Miguel's, which brought her another chance to earn and drive. Hijacking was not all that different from boosting, except that she did not have to deal with locks, alarms, or need to hotwire anything. There had also been a reprieve from what she felt was her own stupidity since Julius' second had been tied up with his crew, who were staking out the Carnales' runners.

The parking lot of Freckle Bitch's was relatively dead. Dexter Jackson was leaning on the hood of a beat-up light-colored La Fuerza parked near the back of the lot when she pulled up three minutes past the deadline he set out for her. The smile was clearly mocking as he clapped slowly at her arrival. Not only was Jackson obviously in a mood, Troy was there too. It was not a detraction; just another challenge to overcome, or so she tried to convince herself.

"Very nice," Dex said, taking note of the surprising hemline and the neckline of the dress. "You clean up pretty good."

"Thank you for your input Stefan," she chided with a half-hearted little curtsey. "Now what's so important that you can't let a girl put real clothes on."

After Dex's little inspection, Furia really did not want to know if Troy was taking similar liberties; though she assumed he was, she just opted to remain ignorant of it. Instead she eyed the map that Dex had laid out on the hood. There were a few new marks added to the three red Xs she had been responsible for days earlier: a couple of pencil lines, green circles, and one large highlighted area. _Jesus, Dex is a little on the obsessive side_, she thought as she leaned over the bright yellow block, studying the area around it.

"You going to enlighten her, or shall I?" Dex said condescendingly to the man on his right.

Leaning her hip against the car and crossing her arms, Furia turned her attention to Troy, who took a moment to glare at Dex. When he started to detail what his guys learned over the last few days, he turned his gaze on Furia. It was one of the things she liked about Troy, when he spoke to you, he looked at you. The minute sign of respect and consideration went a long way with her, especially considering how rare it tended to be. Dex did not do it, though Julius did from time to time. But with Johnny and Troy you knew they were talking to you.

"And we managed to get a lead on where the Los Carnales cut all their shit," Troy concluded his informative report by tapping two fingers on the highlighted section of the map.

"The Carnales," Dex corrected.

Furia did not say a word. He was right, but she kept her mouth shut. In her experience correcting usage and pronunciation rarely worked, unless someone really wanted to learn.

"What?" Troy asked sharply.

"Rio Grande River. Jesus."

Furia bit her lip trying not to smile at the look on Troy's face. She could not decide if he was confused or irritated, or maybe too much of both.

"What the fuck?"

Dex looked at Troy with an exasperated shake of his head. "It's not the Los Carnales. It's just the Carnales. Los means the. Tell him," the shorter of the two men ordered with a sweeping gesture toward Bradshaw.

Suddenly the two of them were looking at her. "He's right," she replied with the barest lift of one shoulder. "Are you done with your Spanish grammar lesson? Because I've been in these heels all day, and I'm going to get testy pretty soon, if you don't tell me why the fuck I'm standing in a Freckle Bitch's parking lot in my literal Sunday's Best."

Troy tried to hide the smile behind his hand as he lit a cigarette, but he seemed to take great pleasure in her response to Dex. She could tell there was some tension between the two men, but in all honesty she noticed there seemed to be tension between Dex and just about everyone. Even his own crew was a little standoffish with him. Perhaps he just rubbed people the wrong way, or maybe he did it intentionally. Furia could not be entirely sure.

Jackson rolled his eyes at her with an aggravated sigh. "Fuck it. Like I was saying. We're not going to raid the factory quite yet."

"Why not?" she and Troy asked in unison, both staring at him.

"'Cause I'm not a gun-toting psychopath named Johnny Gat." The very detailed planner shook his head at the pair of them.

Troy glanced over at her, as if waiting to see if she had something to say. When she shook her head slightly with an annoyed roll of her eyes, Bradshaw straightened and inquired about the plan that had them conspiring behind a fast food joint late on a Sunday night. Apparently she was not the only one standing on the brink of thoroughly put out, Furia realized.

Dex sounded as if he were moving toward incensed, but his tone also suggested his fatigue. Despite this he was focused and specific. "One of my boys called and said they saw a truck with a heavy LC escort leaving the factory district. It's probably loaded with drugs but that is just a bonus. Our target is the truck itself. I need it brought back to the Row in one piece. It's no good to us blown to shit."

Furia considered what he said. A myriad of questions ran through her mind. _How old was the truck? Foreign? Domestic? Oh god, please let it not be European. Shit, I hate European trucks!_ She missed most of the rest of the conversation between the two of them. At least until Dex lost his patience.

"Shit Troy! What's with all the questions? Why can't you be more like my girl here? Damn!" he yelled, gesturing at Furia, pleadingly, with both hands.

"Look. Dex-" Troy said in an effort to smooth the other man's ruffled feathers.

"Could you go get that truck?" Dex asked Furia, ignoring Troy for the moment and turning his back on him.

"Sure thing," she replied, glancing carefully from one to the other and back again.

"See. Is that so hard?" he asked the other man, in a tone that showed he was significantly riled.

"I'm going to need to get my tools. Depending on the make and year, I might need more than a screwdriver and smile." Furia crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him.

"Troy's got it covered," Dex noted without more than a glance at her this time. He gathered his map and the small leather satchel from the front passenger seat of the La Fuerza.

Eying Troy, she huffed a little. _What the hell does that even mean? What does he have covered? Surely he did not mean. No! _She shook her head, hoping she could talk Troy into letting her grab her tools. And since her tools were in her apartment, she might be able to throw on a pair of jeans or something more appropriate for crawling around in the foot well of a truck cab than a relatively delicate cotton blend. Dex seemed hell-bent on ruining her dress as well as her night and to be honest it was pissing her off.

"Fine," she responded shortly. With a little kick of her foot, Furia straightened and started walking toward her brother's car.

The sharp whistle drew her eyes back toward Troy, who was still standing near the dusty blue two-door they had all been gathered around. "We don't really want to use a ride that could be traced back to any of our guys," he said, standing in the open driver's side door.

_Great. I'm in heels and one of my few decent dresses. I have no tools. And now I get the bitch seat. Isn't this just priceless?_

**-4-**

* * *

From the moment she stepped out of Memo's car, Troy could sense that Furia was irked. From what he knew from Memo's call that morning, he could completely understand why. Glaring at him as she stalked back toward the La Fuerza, Furia looked downright livid. Bradshaw figured it might be safest not to mention it. He ducked into the driver's seat and started the car just as she climbed in.

"Seat belt," he said, with a little grin, hoping to lighten her mood.

"Fuck you."

"Okay, then."

Her sharp clipped response seemed to cement her mood. Troy steered the little coupe out of the parking lot. His playful order had been an attempt to get a response out of her, but that was not the one he expected. For the first few miles she did not even look at him. They were nearly at the location Dex's guys at detailed when the silence finally broke.

"I'm sorry, Troy," she said after a few minutes. "I just-"

"I know. And for what it's worth, I tried to get him to put it off until tomorrow."

He glanced over she was shaking her head at the skyline. "It's fine. It's just … it is what it is."

"That's the truth."

"You know anything about this truck?"

Troy hazarded a glance at her. His jaw tightened as his eyes locked on the hand kneading at her calf. He swallowed hard and focused on the road, gripping the wheel tighter.

"Nothing more than you. Some LC dropped it at the docks and it has eyes on it."

"I don't know how long it is going to take me to get it started. Just wish I didn't have to crawl all over a truck in this get up," she replied.

"You don't have to. I'll take care of it."

"You?" Furia sounded unconvinced.

Troy could not help but smile at the return of some lightness to her voice. "I have some tricks up my sleeve," he noted. Though she was right to wonder, he had not tried to hotwire a car since he was in the academy. It was one of those emergency procedures they were taught _Couldn't be all that hard, if he could remember which wires he was supposed to cut and connect_, he told himself.

"If you say so."

When he eyed her again she was leaned back against the seat, face turned to the industrial district sweeping by. The small purple flower earrings were the only sign of her affiliation, but considering where she had spent the day it seemed more than enough. The gray of the dress did not flatter her, but she still looked amazing. _Of course she always looks incredible_, he thought. Looking away quickly, he shook the thought from his head.

"Your brother was leaving today right?"

"Yeah. Max. "

He caught the shift of her body out of the corner of his eye, she turned toward him slightly, her elbow perched on the armrest between them. That enticing hint of vanilla made him tighten his grip on the wheel again.

"Academic scholarship to Eastern Poly."

"Damn!"

She was smiling proudly, her eyes focused on nothing. "I'm glad he's not here, but not at the same time, if that makes any sense." she admitted as Troy pulled onto the dock slowly.

"Yeah, it does."

Bradshaw almost wished there were a few miles left; getting her to talk to him about anything not related to the Saints was a guilty pleasure he too thoroughly enjoyed. He parked the car a several yards from the truck then popped the hood. Flicking the cigarette out the window, his eyes met hers. Furia never shied away from looking someone in the eye-Troy could not decide if it was out of defiance or merely respect, but he assumed it was most likely to be some measure of the two from what he had seen of her. Sometimes her gaze was so intense it could stagger him, and this was one of those times.

He did not want to make the suggestion he was about to voice. It was one of the reasons Dex had called her. Pretty girl, leaning over an engine, might peak some interest, but would not necessarily send up red flags. The fact that she could handle herself made her an even better candidate. Furia was cool under pressure, Troy had seen it firsthand a number of times, and she could fit whatever bill someone wanted to paint on her, with ease. She could read people and fit their expectations on a dime. To Dex's luck, the dress was likely going to make her just that much more convincing.

Troy popped the hood latch and got out. When she followed he could tell she knew where he was going. "Feel up to playing the damsel in distress?"

"I should shoot Dexter Jackson, … and you."

Troy laughed. "Probably."

She mumbled something he did not understand, and he was fairly certain by the fire in her eyes that he did not want to know. When he lifted the hood, she leaned against the grill and looked up at him.

"Did he seriously call me because I'd look innocuous and completely useless."

"No," Troy replied, one hand still on the edge of the hood as he loomed over her. He shook his head slightly and opted to be straight with her. "I don't know. You never can tell with Dex. But I'm glad he agreed with me."

"Agreed with you?" she asked.

He swore Furia seemed to be taken aback, with her head tilted slightly upward, the look she gave him was a little less life-threatening than it had been moments earlier. Though in all honesty a part of him was surprised as well, both that he had suggested her and that she had not retaliated at the admission.

"Yeah. I figured this would be right up your alley."

"Why's that?"Peppered with a trace of irritation, her tone was innocuously curious.

"I suggested you because I knew that if something happened you would have my back."

"Even if I can't shoot straight?"

Her lips curved in that too familiar way and Troy tightened his grip on the edge of the hood. _Damn that smile_. "Like you said. Enough bullets and you're bound to hit something."

She shook her head and punched him in the shoulder. Her laughter was light and inspired Troy to respond similarly. Bradshaw watched her after she looked away. Furia was a guilty pleasure-dangerous and enticing. He knew he was being stupid. She could ruin his career. Even worse she could get him killed, or the other way around.

"Be right back," he said, chastising himself as he jogged to the truck parked up the dock.

**-5-**

* * *

Pulling her long hair off her shoulders, Furia watched her partner in crime move quickly toward the shadows of the building. _Well, at least in one respect, he thought like a car thief. _Her eyes scanned the deserted road, then the rooftops. Dex had said there were eyes on this truck, but not given them any more information than that. Her mind ebbed and flowed from the present situation to the revelations Bradshaw had offered her, which she really was not certain how to reconcile. Deep down there was an ever growing desire to throttle Dexter Jackson; a desire she knew she would likely never act on, though she might threaten to the next time he tried to play her off as a hood ornament.

Then there was Troy. Furia could not be sure how to judge the statement he made about trusting her or her ability; to her, her inability seemed to me more noticeable than any skill, outside of driving and boosting cars. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the light flash on in the cab. She got just a glimpse of him, before he bashed the shell of the fixture with the screwdriver-the strong jaw, sharp eyes, and that almost ever-present scowl which seemed to draw his brow downward.

_Aja, idiota. ¡Ave María Purísima! Get a grip._

Again her gaze was drawn to the road. This time her attention focused on the headlights approaching. She turned so that she was leaning over the open engine compartment, while her eyes followed the Hollywood convertible as it slowed to make an observation of the scene she was setting. With a quick glance at the truck she was glad that Troy had the sense to knock out the cab light, but even so he was not in view, though the door of the vehicle was not completely shut. As the breezer drove under a street light, she counted heads and took note of the car-crimson metallic paint, gold scroll work, and three men in red shirts and bandannas.

_There go the eyes_, she told herself. As the taillights faded, she looked back at the truck nervously. _This is taking way to long._

"Heads up. We've been spotted. But I don't think they're suspicious yet." _I hope_.

"Almost got it." His reply was muffled.

Furia looked at the engine. There were some things she knew precisely what to do with. Distributor cap, battery, carburetor, she mentally ticked off a little checklist in her head as she scanned the barely lit metallic landscape before, listening hard for any engine sounds. Though she was praying to hear the gruff rumble of a diesel as every second ticked by, it did not come.

About three minutes after the first pass, the thick purr of a well-tuned V8 drew her attention, however. Thankfully it was not the same car. This one was a tiny Vegas.

_That one could be an issue_, she noted as she watched the little two-seater cruise by at a painfully slow speed. She could almost feel the driver staring at her, so she kicked her leg up and reached toward the dipstick as if she was going to do something. She let out a long slow breath and stepped away from the car, trying to look as far up the road as possible. The street curved as it ran past the dock, cutting the amount of warning she could get. It was also set above the dock, which cut her line of sight and gave anyone on the road the advantage.

She looked back at the truck and heard a muffled curse.

_That's it. This is taking too damn long. _

When she pulled the door open, Troy's hand went to his gun, but luckily for him it was just her and not someone there to shoot him. She smiled slightly, having got the drop on him.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

"Get out of the truck, Troy," she said flatly. When he climbed down, she set her hand on his back to steady him, then immediately grabbed the handle beside the door for support. His hand on the small of her back, gave her pause. With a quick glance she noticed him trying to peek around the edge of the door, which gave her a little relief.

"I saw two cars. Little supped up Vegas, with a V8, and Hollywood," she noted as she looked at the wires Troy had pulled out. Thankfully he had not cut anything yet or this might have been a bust. "Where's your screwdriver?"

**-6-**

* * *

With an upward glance his eyes travelled the length of her legs again, forgetting the question for a moment until he saw the open hand stretched toward him impatiently groping at nothing. Thankfully her attention was on the steering column and he was the only one of them aware of his leering. He set the requested tool in her hand. She never even glanced at him. In the darkness he could not be sure precisely what she was doing.

"Come on, baby. Make it easy for me," she whispered toward the dashboard.

_Less than a minute,_ he thought when the engine rumbled to life.

"How the hell did you do that?" he asked as she swung her legs toward him.

Out of politeness, he set his hands on her waist as she climbed out of the cab. But when she hopped off the last step, Furia was close enough to make the rest of the world go mute and dark as that intense gaze pulled at him. The intoxicating mix of that look and the spiced vanilla swirling around her stalled his brain. The feel of her so close was a temptation he had sampled previously, but there was something very different about it in that moment.

The distance between them prompted by position and reality seemed to disappear as her hand lingered in his chest. Something in him refused to step away, but before he could close the scant space remaining between them, the screeching of tires and the low rumble of a big engine pulled him out of the spell.

"Damnit!" she sighed, leaning her head back against the door.

"Go! I'll cover you. Then we can get the hell out of here."

"We have three minutes, until the Vegas comes back around."

Troy had to admit he was impressed-she had taken careful not of the patrols and the timing. He climbed up into the cab to try for a clear shot. He took out the two men near Furia's getaway. The resounding low ring of metal on metal told him there were more. Before he could get a clear shot, Troy saw Furia bounce the third man's forehead off the front panel of the truck.

"Go!" she scolded as he looked down at her. "Dios."

As Bradshaw slipped into the cab he watched her run across the dock. She waved him past as she slammed the hood closed on the car one of Dex's guys had picked up. When he turned onto the street, checking his mirror, he noticed the large red convertible speeding toward him, and his heart sank for a moment. The ringing cut through his brain, and a lighter feeling returned with recognition of the number.

"You just had to steal their car, didn't you?"

"Figured there was a chance it would draw less attention and fewer questions if an LC truck was followed by a big red barge."

Troy nodded. _She was right_. "Nice trick."

"Yeah well. That and if that Vegas shows up, I'm more likely to be able to block them with this thing than that coupe."

"It's a shame you're not wearing red," he replied.

"Who says I'm not?"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"Someone left a sweet jacket in the front seat, and I stole the bandanna off the guy that jumped me. So I might could pass, if no one looks to close. And if their boys on the dock go unnoticed long enough."

"It is possible. The two I shot are behind the car, so if you're looking from the street."

"Well, mine was mostly in the shadows. They might have to look hard to find him."

"Might be our only worry is whether someone one knows that this truck isn't supposed to be moving yet," Troy stated as he turned onto the freeway. He had honestly expected some resistance, but perhaps she was right; he already knew she was good.

Half an hour later, when they pulled into Samson's garage without an inkling of suspicion, Troy was thoroughly relieved. Rounding the truck, he stopped as Furia stepped out of the convertible.

"You look good in red."

"Yeah," she replied with a little laugh. "But purple is more my style."

"Have to agree there."

Furia shrugged off the jacket and tossed it in the backseat as Troy approached. He could not help but wonder about that moment, what might have happened if no one had turned down that dock. When she leaned against the door, and looked up at him, there was a part of him that wondered if the same question might not be playing in her head as well.

She did look good in red, really good, but he hated seeing the color on her, thus he took the liberty of untying the bandana holding her hair back in a rushed ponytail. The blush that kissed her cheeks, made him bolder.

"Dex said you'd have the keys," Samson called from the other side of the truck.

It was enough to let her slip away again.

"The keys weren't in it. He was wrong about that," Troy told the ceiling as he shook his head slightly when she turned away from him.

"The damage was minimal though. And it should be able to be started again, though you might have to go to the ignition wires next time around," Furia explained as she too rounded the truck.

Troy leaned against the door of the Hollywood. His mind racing along two tracks-all the reasons he should avoid this woman, and all the things that seemed to draw him toward her.

_This can't happen. Just walk away. It will be easier that way. Just full stop, and it will all be fine_. Anytime he felt himself hurtling toward her, he tried to grab onto anything to halt his fall; none of it had been working. Even the last few days, tied up with the Los Carnales runners, he had been distracted by her and she had not even been around. There was no guarantee that this plan could or would work, but Bradshaw knew he had to do something before he fucked up his career and burned all the time he had already put into this assignment.


End file.
